Stars in Motion
by Rianne
Summary: Some fun, romance and a little angst for our CSI's following on from the events of Grave Danger and Bodies in Motion. "Hey, Griss, We're taking Warrick to the Peppermill..."
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up...) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… The Peppermill also does not belong to me. _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'; so the opening 'locker room' dialogue also does not belong to me and comes directly from that episode! Although I have slightly altered Catherine's words to fit to my advantage! And this will also (eventually!) contain a minor mention of comments made in season 5 episode 'Spark of Life'. Thank you once again to kilohoku for the transcripts, which are a godsend. _

_**Author Notes**__: I would like to repeatedly thank all the people who read my first CSI story Snake Bites for all their reviews and comments, which were appreciated more than you could ever know. This one is for all of you!! Rianne xXx_

_**Stars in Motion.**_

_**By Rianne**_

"Can she cook? Is she a good cook? Come on, Warrick." Nick jibed as he laced up his boot. His voice taking on a wheedling quality as he found his friend's calm refusal to tell him anything even remotely interesting about his new wife bring out the inner child in him.

Warrick sighed, he was definitely sick of the questions already.

But Nick, Nick sounded like he was going to be okay. That was the next thought that popped into his head. Nick's brotherly mocking made him sound for a brief moment just like his old self again. Back before the horrors of spending too many hours buried alive at the deranged hands of Walter Gordon. He was more thankful than he could ever say to see his friend back at work, free of ant bite reactions and beginning to slowly heal.

He could even deal with all this questioning, he was so grateful to have his friend alive. So he held his tongue, unable to even jokingly tell his friend to butt out, and more importantly shut up in front of Catherine.

He had felt Catherine immediately stiffen at his side as soon as Nick had begun his happy inquisition. The tension, which had floated around her since the truth about his newlywed status had come out at the crime scene earlier, had followed her into the locker room. He had turned to see her enter and seen the flicker in her eyes as their gaze unexpectedly met, she hadn't been too happy to see him standing there. In fact her eyes had been downright thunderous.

He knew she was putting on a brave face. Keeping her back straight and her head held high. It wasn't that he was being narcissistic or anything. He too had known that something had always simmered happily between them.

Fantasy she had said, yeah, fantasy was right!

But he knew he had hurt her. Could see the way her body strained under her sleek fitted grey suit as she forced herself to look him in the eye. The last thing he had wanted was for there to be awkwardness between them. She was too important to him. Her reaction had been the one thing he had been afraid of when he had thought of telling his friends his happy news. So much so that he had said nothing to anyone, even Nick, hoping that the new band of gold, which encircled the third finger on his left hand, would suddenly become invisible in their presence.

Yet that was unfair to his wife. He loved Tina. He wanted to do this right and be a great and honourable husband and lover and friend.

And really who did he think he was kidding trying to hide something like that in plain sight when he worked with the best investigative minds in Las Vegas!

It seemed to him these days that no one could please everyone, including themselves, however hard you tried.

Finally tired of getting no response from his unusually silent friend, and not getting the hint that his sighs and glares were stressing, Nick glancing up from his laces saw Grissom heading past in the corridor.

"Hey, Grissom!" he shouted to grab his attention.

His boss wheeled to a halt in the doorway his hand reaching out to grasp the doorframe as if he had been racing so fast in his mind that he needed to reach out to steady himself and slow down his thoughts. Like a rabbit in the headlights Grissom waited, always uncertain of what was coming next when it was accompanied by a Nick Stokes smile.

"We're taking Warrick to the Peppermill to celebrate his marriage," Grissom's attention lifted to where Warrick leaned against his locker in pleasant surprise at the news.

"and to condemn his elopement." Nick continued, his voice dipping in an attempt to sound aggrieved.

"You in?" Nick invited. His grin one which was hard to resist and even the usually stoic Dr. Grissom felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. It was nice to see Nick smiling again.

"Did you invite your wife?" Came Grissom's reply, the cheeky grin finally breaking on his face, as he shook his head knowingly at Warrick. He already knew the answer.

Shaking his head in response Warrick could not help but break into a smile himself. His words brimmed with his amusement, at least these two guys were happy for him.

"I don't think I'm ready to subject her to the crew just yet." He retorted, ignoring their smiles and their shaking heads. He knew he'd let them meet her eventually, but maybe one at a time! On mass they could be… well they could be…them!

Catherine shouldered her bag, closing her locker with a snick.

"I got to beg off, you guys. Got to pick Lindsay up from school." She said. Her voice calm and controlled, even to the trained ear. She was forcing a smile. She turned quickly away, missing the sly, sadly knowing looks, which passed between Grissom and Nick, as the pair then rounded their gaze upon Warrick. They too had always sensed the attraction between their friends, but now, now as if things hadn't already changed enough recently, they were finally back together working as a team and here was something else to challenge them as a unit.

"All right," Warrick accepted quietly, keeping his disappointment to himself, realizing that it wouldn't work to push her just yet. He turned to watch her leave his gaze sweeping sadly over her back, the way the gold hair breezed. It was probably better this way; at least there would be no chance of alcohol drawing too many truths out of either of them.

"Bye," she murmured faintly as she slipped away.

"Bye," Nick replied, his attention back on Grissom already.

"So?" He directed the question at his boss again. The expectant look almost impossible to refuse.

"I got one more thing to do." Grissom stated to placate him, before he slipped away back out to the AV lab – looking every bit the part of a man on a mission.

"All right!" Nick replied, his smile full force as he swung on the bench towards Warrick, with a look of intent on his face.

"Don't." Came Warrick's very definite warning reply. He didn't care if it was a comment about Catherine or yet another question about his wife he just could not listen to anymore.

_**0000000000**_

Grissom and Archie sat side by side in the AV lab, the projector screen and computer monitors before them alive with the static of the conversation processed from the badly burned Dictaphone tape from Nick's fateful day.

Even hearing Walter Gordon's voice from beyond the grave didn't soften the way the sound made both men's stomach's turn. Made Grissom's hand tremble as his mind worked quickly over the new evidence that Archie was providing him with, yet he struggled to concentrate. In his mind there was a war, a fight for his concentration. All he wanted to do was to listen to the words being spoken and yet his mind was clouded by the unforgettable image of Gordon blowing himself to smithereens barely feet from him, and taking away all he had placed his hopes on, what they had all placed their hopes on, their only chance of finding out where Nick was buried.

And then he had heard it. Had heard what he had suspected all along.

"Ok?" Clearly Walter Gordon's voice.

"Perfect," A stranger.

An accomplice.

"How did you know it was going to be there?" Archie's voice held an awed tone.

Chance…

_**0000000000**_

It had purely been chance…

But things change by chance and sometimes for the better.

On his second visit to the hospital to see Nick, barely days after they had rescued him from the coffin of glass buried deep under the layers of mud and earth, things had unexpectedly been stirred into motion.

Nick was improving greatly, his bite wounds soothed by layers of lotions, his hydration levels increasing, and his breathing better. His strength returning in ebbs, yet he was still sleeping for most of the day. Deep languid dreams soothed by the potions and cocktails the doctors had kindly pumped into his system. Their magic concoctions fighting off the night terrors, sweats and the echoes of his own hoarse screams as they bounded back at him from the surrounding darkness.

Gil had entered Nick's room, the raised hospital bed bathed in a pool of light, to find Sara curled in the shadows in a chair at the side of their friend's bed.

For a moment he had paused, drinking her in, captivated by her in this true moment of pure honesty. Tears had glazed her cheeks with a glow, her chest heaved with each effort of breath, and her knees had been tucked defensively up under her chin in a vulnerable pose that brought back painful memories for him. She clasped Nick's limp palm in-between both of hers, just as he had held her hand months before during the purging of her own soul.

She was whispering to Nick's sleeping form, the soft lilt of her voice behind the shield of her hair making her unintelligible to Grissom. And he knew better than to move closer in order to snatch a wisp of her words. He knew how fiercely she protected her privacy.

So he had waited, considering her; afraid to move in case he frightened her, knowing more than anyone how much she needed these breakdowns of emotional release. Feeling the same yearnings burning deep in his own chest. The fear, the injustice, the knowledge that it could have been anyone of them. The idea that they could have been too late. And the overwhelming relief in knowing that they had overcome everything to come through for their friend.

He didn't know how long he waited, but it seemed only minutes later when she had slipped from the chair. Gently placing Nick's palm against his chest. Leaning over him she had caressed his hair and pressed a light kiss to his forehead, before turning to leave.

She hadn't even started to find him standing there.

She had smiled weakly, brushing the back of her hand over her cheeks revealing the gentle freckles usually hidden by her discreet makeup. She had looked all of ten years old.

"Hi," she had breathlessly whispered, emotion making her voice huskier than usual, tentative like she was afraid to break the silence, and he had returned the greeting in the same way.

For the first time in a long time he had reacted upon his instincts. He had reached out with one slightly hesitant hand and placing it on her shoulder had drawn her close.

Both of them had sighed softly as their upper bodies had come into contact. He could still remember the sound as it had escaped her. Still felt the warmth of their bodies and the feel of the life in them drawing them closer. Her arms had slipped around his waist and she had pressed her face gently into his shoulder. And she had stayed like that, both of them swaying soothingly and he had been unable to stop the smile which spread across his face.

When she finally drew back, she had been smiling too, a small smile, and her eyes had crinkled as she had seen that he was smiling too. Her cheeks had flushed pink as she had stepped away, tucking a curl of her dark hair back behind her ear shyly.

"I should go," she had said, still quiet. She had glanced back over her shoulder at Nick.

Then gently pressing a palm to his shoulder she had moved to slip past him. She hadn't moved very far before his gentle fingers had closed around her wrist.

Her eyes had lifted to meet his and he had seen confusion and concern swirling in the dark irises.

"How did you get here?" he had asked, he was worried about her, worried about her going home alone like this. "Did you drive?"

He had been surprised to see her shake her head.

"I walked." She had confessed quietly, dipping her head as his eyes had widened. It was a long walk from the CSI lab. "I know," she whispered sensing his thoughts. "I needed to think." She had said briefly with a slight shrug.

"Ok," he had accepted with an understanding nod. "Let me, erm, let me…"

He had been so nervous, and even then he had known why. He had sensed that things between them were about to shift.

"Let me drive you." He had finally managed to say. "Please," he had insisted.

And she had let him. They had even stopped for coffee, which had been his idea; something he knew had surprised her. They had sat for a while at a window table in a small place across the road from the hospital, watching the world go by, not really saying a whole lot. Making light conversation. Complaining about the dreadful coffee they were served. Yet still sipping the dark liquid during comfortable silences. Knowing that it was something else warming their insides.

For the first time in a very long time their words had nothing to do with forensics, or death or work of any kind. And they had smiled.

The journey to her home had been filled with the vibrant sounds of Classical music that reverberated from his CD player and filled the inside of his car with what sounded like a full orchestra.

She had noticed the difference in his musical tastes and commented to that end. Admitting that although she knew nothing about Classical music at all, her grin had spread as she teased him, that she could certainly tell it was happy music and not his usual sad sounding aria or any of the other melodic and depressing pieces often heard drifting from his office.

He had in turn pretended to pout, but she was right, it was nice to listen to something uplifting when he felt this way.

He had slowed on his approach to her home and then realised as he turned off the engine that he hadn't even needed to ask her for directions.

She had watched him curiously for a moment, as he had leaned back in his chair, then he had reached for the door handle and with a faint shake of her head, which he saw on his periphery, she had reached for hers.

That look of curiosity had been back in her eyes as she had crossed in front of the car and walked to her door, her fingers rooting in the pocket of her dark jeans for the key. She had wanted to know what he was doing. Why he had gotten out of the car. And truthfully he didn't really know.

Key in hand she had turned back to him. She had hovered her uncertainty clear.

"Do you want to come in?" she had finally asked. Her voice cracking slightly.

He'd considered it. He had been so tempted, but then he'd felt himself shake his head gently.

"You should sleep," he had heard the words slip from his lips on his soft smile.

"We both should." He had heard himself continue.

She had nodded, and he had seen the flicker of disappointment cross her features and wondered if his own face was that expressive.

But they were both so very tired.

She had smiled softly, her head tilting upwards, a look of surprise dawning as he had stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Reaching out again, he had caressed that same lock of hair back behind her ear which had escaped earlier, feeling the softness of her cheek beneath the slightly rough pads of his fingers.

Instinctively she had leaned into his touch. And he'd kissed her.

Feeling the gentle gasp of breath as her lips parted softly beneath his.

It had lasted mere moments before he had reluctantly pulled away, yet it had been perfect.

And purely chance…

_**0000000000**_

"Hey, Griss!" Warrick's voice cut through the excited chatter going on between his boss and Archie, who still leaned over the AV desk talking animatedly about what they had found.

"Griss?" Warrick tried again, "You coming or not man?"

Shaking his head to distance himself from his discovery Gil turned towards the younger CSI.

"Yes," he stated with a firm nod. He looked to Archie, "Great work." He praised, feeling the power of bestowing compliments and recognising that he didn't do it anywhere near often enough.

"Great work," he said again as he stood and moved away from the desk heading in the direction of Warrick's retreating back.

_**0000000000**_

_**To be continued…**_


	2. Chapter 2

Stars in Motion

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up...) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… The Peppermill also does not belong to me._

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'. And this contains a minor mention of comments made in season 4 episode 'Butterflied', and season 5 episode 'Snakes'. Also the name of Lindsey's school, Butterfield Academy, does not belong to me…(and Hello…Butterfield/Butterf__**LI**__ed…?! Although I do fear I sometimes read to much into everything!) Thank you once again to kilohoku for the transcripts, which are a godsend._

_**Author Notes:**__ Thank you so much for all the wonderful and encouraging reviews for my first chapter! I'm so glad you are all enjoying it!! This one is a little bit of an angsty chapter… but chapter three will be when the fun starts I promise!! Thank you again for reading!! Rianne xXx_

_**Stars in Motion**_

_**By Rianne.**_

_Chapter Two._

"Bringggggggggg!"

The moment the sound shattered the quiet of Greg Sanders apartment he shocked bolt up right.

With a groan he reached for the back of his neck with both hands. It hurt.

"Whhhh…?"

"Bringggggggg!"

He brought a hand to his face finding the surface of it smeared with something. Blinking rapidly to keep his eyes open against the bright he lifted his hand away and as his vision swam clear he saw his fingertips were coated in what looked like blood.

Blood?!

"Bringggggg!"

Oh God, they'd come for him. They'd come for Nick. They'd come for him. They were here, somewhere in his home. Ready to drag him away and bury him underground in the same indelible way he had seen Nick suffer over the web cam whilst feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life.

His heart thudded against his t-shirt as the adrenaline tore around his body and made the room around him swim. He tried to stand but his legs got caught in the table's limbs and he stumbled forward, cracking his ribs against the wood.

They were here. In his apartment and they had tried to subdue him and yet here he was aware and what was that sound? It hadn't been the sound of anyone else there.

And blood?

Wait no.

It smelled wrong, he lifted his hand closer. It smelt like…

Like…

Ketchup, sauce, tomato sauce.

His gaze dropped to the table before him and revealed a half eaten slice of pizza with a face-like impression left in the greasy cheese and meat. A half read newspaper lay beside it, crumpled where he had squeezed it in his fist like a pillow.

His sigh of relief sagged his aching chest and he shook his head, using his clean hand to rub the sleep out of his groggy eyes.

"Bringgggggg!"

He could have laughed if it hadn't all been so raw in his mind.

There it was again that noise and the shaking which accompanied it as his cell phone vibrated its way across his tabletop towards him.

He reached for it, feeling it slide through his slimy fingers.

"Sanderzzzzzzz," He slurred against the block of plastic he had finally managed to grasp in his sauce cover hand.

"Greggo!! Finally Man!!"

"Nick?"

"Geez, you sound like crap! But this is no time for sleeping! Come on, drinks at the Peppermill. We're celebrating - bachelor party for Warrick!"

Nick's rapid fire bursts of words made Greg hold his head. He was way too tired for this. For the first time he felt old and he didn't like it.

"Now?"

Greg staggered to his feet, managed to untwine himself from the table before catching sight of himself in the matte reflective shell of his fridge. Leaning closer to the curved surface which strained his image like a fairground mirror he saw that along with the Italian on his face he was also sporting most of the article from page four of his newspaper.

And rubbing it only made a sooty smudge.

"Hey Greggo!" Nick shouted again into his ear making Greg lift the phone away from his head and close his eyes to a squint. "Wake up!"

He had just been thinking how great it was to hear Nick's voice. Now, now he wasn't so sure.

"Greggo… GREGGO!" Nick continued laughter in his voice.

_**0000000000**_

An accomplice. An accomplice… a second voice, but was it a male or female...

Gil Grissom had stood before the open cupboard in his interesting office staring blindly into the dark recesses of the storage for much longer than he had realised. Over and over the same thoughts had been replaying in his mind and he couldn't stop the loop. He had told Warrick that he was just going to change, a new shirt, something he hadn't worn in the lab all day.

Drawing back his focus he reached out for the only other item of clothing he had here which was better than what he was currently wearing, the blue shirt he kept in his office for the surprise court appearances they usually sprang on him.

Picking up the slightly stiff cotton he also snagged the matching tie, but on second consideration slid it back onto the hanger and closed the door.

What was he doing?

He still couldn't believe he had said he would go with them. Who was he kidding? He was old enough to be their father, well Greg's maybe. But morale, Cath was always talking about morale and politics and… and where was she tonight…

Yet he knew and could certainly understand that spending time with her daughter was a good thing for Catherine and it was even better for Lindsay, it was something that they both needed. They all had felt that compulsion to be close to the people they cared about after all that had happened. All that they had seen and been forced to question about their own lives. He had been to visit his own mother, several times since… and Sara.

But he was lost at things like this. Catherine was the people person.

Yet this was his team. His team again and he knew that they were certainly worth a night of feeling slightly uncomfortable for.

He'd had a stark reminder, for the first time he had held the fate of a living person, someone he cared about, in his hands and had come to the realisation that this life he had chosen for himself was suddenly lacking, had not been panning out the way he had planned. That going home to his empty apartment and the quiet no longer held the same draw as it once had.

With a glance behind him to check that the corridor by his window was clear he lifted the polo shirt he wore over his head and slipped into the cool cotton replacement. Buttoning up he re-situated the collar before a movement outside the windowed wall checked his vanity. Nick was on the phone in the hall.

And then Warrick was standing in the doorway. He nodded to Grissom, lifting his chin high and angling it in the direction of the exit. "Let's go!"

_**0000000000**_

The phone was ringing!

She dashed up her front path, fingers straining frantically to wriggle into the pocket of her jeans where she had hooked her keys as she had climbed from her car. Eventually grasping them she peered over the bags of groceries in her arms to find the right one, and finally finding it she jammed it into the lock.

"Hang on!" she cried her voice edged with frustration as she at long last got the door to swing inwards. She knew talking to the phone was stupid but she couldn't help it. She stumbled into the deep purple calm of the inside, tilting her face downwards so that her sunglasses slipped down her nose and she could see where she was going in the dim light.

Dumping the bags in a haphazard heap on her counter she scrambled across the room and snatched up the phone.

Please don't let it be work, she thought.

"Sidle,"

"Sara!" Nick's warm southern drawl filled her ear.

"Nicky! What can I do for you? Not a case, please..."

"Sara Sidle turning down a case?" He laughed. "What is up with your phone woman? I have been calling you for ever."

"My phone?" she asked absently.

Her cell phone, she glanced around her shopping bags, it wasn't there. Closing her eyes the sudden remembered image of her phone sitting on the upper shelf of her locker appeared to her.

"Oh damn! I must have left it at work." She slipped off her sunglasses with her free hand brushing back her hair.

She crossed to the counter and began pulling items out of the bag, milk, coffee, bread, sorting them away as she waited for Nick to get around to telling her why he was calling. She felt slightly nervous; her work friends very rarely rang her at home unless it was something bad, although the extra nervous energy was certainly coming in handy with her unpacking.

"So…?" She hinted eventually.

"Right," Nick forged on, "Tonight, you're out with us, we're all going to the Peppermill."

"All?" She asked a smile curving, closing her eyes, enjoying the feeling of relief that it was an invite and not a problem. Blinking again she eyed the newly bought snack food and the stack of new books she had been waiting weeks to read. "Oh I don't know Nicky, I'm pretty tired."

She sighed softly away from the phone, but he caught it.

"Awww come on, we're all going, well except Cath, come on, come on…"

"Oh yeah right, like I believe you talked Grissom into a night on the town!" She had to smile at that and her voice brimmed with it!

"I bet you ten bucks I did, but you'll have to come and see… so I can wipe your face in it!" Nick teased.

Grissom was really going? She wasn't sure she believed that, but Nick was trying his damn hardest to be convincing and it was nice to be invited. It made her feel like the old days, when they had gone out for beers after the harder cases to shake the nightmares from their brains before they formed.

Yet that had eventually been the cause of more trouble than release for her, and it had taken a near booking for a DUI to make her realise that drinking wasn't any way of fixing things and it didn't help her hide from things very well either.

She sighed, turning around to lean her lower back against the kitchen counter.

"Sara? You still there?" Nick tried again. " Look, me, Warrick and Grissom are headed over to the Peppermill, Greg's meeting us there, if you fancy it you know where to find us."

And then he was gone.

She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment or two before she felt her curiosity bloom. Was Grissom really going out for drinks with the guys?

Maybe he too had missed them working together as a team.

The last few months had been eventful, the team splitting up, working most of her cases with Greg, which wasn't bad, exactly, but it was different. She had never been one to appreciate change. Seeing the boys only rarely in the halls at the lab or in the station had been hard, she had missed their crazy humour and brotherly affection, she would even have gone as far as to say she missed them, and then as the icing on an already sour cake Sophia had arrived.

CSI Sophia Curtis, she didn't like to think about it. She felt her forehead crease with the impulse to frown. Thinking about that woman always darkened her mood. She had been on edge from the first moment she had witnessed the way Grissom looked at Sophia. If she had been describing another woman's responses, instead of her own, she would probably have said she was acting threatened. The more sensitive, well…guilty, part of her also recognised that she hadn't even considered giving the other woman a fair chance. Spending time with Catherine and all her barely concealed aggression had clearly rubbed off on her.

Sophia couldn't have arrived at a worse time. With her sassy smart and her beautiful hair and her flirtation with Grissom.

She had been so lonely.

So lonely she had ached.

The others had seemed to settle into their new roles as colleagues and boss and left her feeling like she sat alone at the conference table whilst they all shared jokes in the break room. And sometimes she really had sat alone and alone hadn't felt so welcoming anymore.

She kept waiting for it all to fall into place, had worked more and more overtime just to be in the lab where there were people and yet her loneliness had only increased.

Especially after she had reached out to Grissom, finally admitting to herself and to him that he was the one person she wanted to be with, be close too, be intimate with.

The Lab had exploded and he had called her '_honey_' and been concerned for her and she had been shocked awake as she had been thrown to the ground and had seen how quickly it could have all been over and suddenly thought she was invincible.

No, she had blamed her self-destructive impulses for far too much of her behaviour, she had wanted to ask Grissom out for so long, but that day had given her that final push.

And he'd turned her down flat.

The look on his face when he had told her he didn't know what to do about the thing between them had made her nervous heart plunge several storeys. He had looked so… surprised yes, but confused and uncomfortable too; she might even have described him as afraid, almost threatened. He had looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in that doorway with her.

He had said no. It had been defensive and even somewhat patronising.

She had wanted to shake him and scream and tell him to ignore the rules and the regulations. Yet he had chosen to hide behind the codes and policies.

The one time he had chosen to be politic.

Or had he? Had he not simply been trying to save her feelings? At that time she could not be sure. When it came to Gil Grissom it seemed she never could be sure.

She knew he had always struggled, that social niceties had never been a strong point, for either of them, that dating was a scary word, but she had thought then that he had at least cared for her as a friend, and her hopeful impulses wanted desperately to believe that he was awkwardly trying to show some respect for her feelings. Yet the more realistic side of her wasn't so sure.

Back then she hadn't been able to decide which side of the fence he stood on, whether he cared and thought he shouldn't or whether he didn't and he wanted to flee from her and her persistence. He left her with only confusion. He drove her crazy with contradictions.

His words had unleashed that little monster in her brain, the one that made her doubt, made her wonder if she had been imagining them to have more in common than they actually did, that she had been reading more than had been intended into his words and actions. Made her question herself.

He had left her standing out on a limb looking like a fool. Left her stranded and isolated and even more confused and he had let her walk away.

She should have known what to expect, emotions and Grissom were never destined to be an easy combination, but she knew she had at least tried. She had that. No unasked questions had pulsed through her veins…

It had hurt, had made her angry and helpless and yet she couldn't hate him. As frustrated as he could make her she knew she could never resist her impulses towards him. That in that moment she really had just been bluffing when she had told him that it could soon be too late.

She had walked away and spent time alone, curled in her bed in the darkness, wondering what was wrong with her. Why she continued to do this to herself.

Yet somehow that spark between them hadn't died. It had flared on to torment her.

Then they had fallen into a time of silence, broken only by the occasion they had spent discussing her PEAP counselling. He had been stunned into his usual emotional-talk-induced silence, and then eventually when she had halted in her usual over-talking babble and allowed him to form words he had been so deep in thought, and then…about to reach out to her? Or at least she had thought he was, but in a flash she had realised that time had changed her, the way things had been recently between them had changed her, that this didn't feel right for right now and maybe it never would and maybe it was already that moment she had dreaded and hoped would never arrive. Had she bluffed her way to a real truth? Was it too late?

She had gone with her gut. Had known she might have been risking her chance, but had also known that she couldn't force him. If he couldn't even say the words…

It shouldn't be this hard.

She had told herself that she couldn't keep letting herself get like this, into confrontations with him like this. She needed to show better self-control. Even if it broke her, even if did feel important that she let him know the truth, that she remind him that she wanted him, that she had come to Vegas for him, because he had asked.

She had known then that she had to stop. She couldn't keep causing this painful tension between them, even if she knew by then that he felt the same.

He had deemed her not worth the risk and a part of her had believed it.

She had told him to forget it in more poetic words than she had ever managed around him before, she had only said three words to convey that she was letting him be, she wouldn't be asking him and confusing him and embarrassing him again.

'_It's Ok… Ok._'

She had appeared so calm, whilst all the while fighting back the impulses that tiny part of her had, the one which made her want to scream at him to fight for her.

She had set him free, unwittingly leaving him open to another woman.

It had been only later when Sophia had swished into the lab into her place that she had realised the consequences of her actions and that even the awkward conversations and moments had always been soothed by the abundance of the sweet ones. The coy glances, the witty banter over the crime scenes, the offhand compliments which always stopped her in her tracks.

Anything would have been better than the avoidance and separation that had been going on for so long between them.

She had missed him so much.

Acknowledging this had broken her heart even more than hearing Gil talk about her to a complete stranger, to tell a man he knew nothing about, a murderer, more than he had ever been able to say to her.

To hear the truth.

'_Risk everything we've worked for in order to have her.'_

How those words had chilled her. How the sad and dejected expression on his face and the way his shoulders had sagged, had tugged at her broken heart.

Then he had kicked the bottom out of her world.

'_I couldn't do it_' he'd said.

But now…

Things had changed.

They had all lived through the worst ordeal of their adult lives, true she had known pain for most of her life, her early life especially, but to know the fate of someone she cared about balanced so precariously upon their actions…

Finding Nick safe, she hadn't experienced a feeling like that. It had changed her.

Changed her for the better.

She had spent so many nights lost in her sadness, plunging into a depression at the thought of how small her life had become since she had come to Vegas, how lonely. She had no one. Those thoughts had kept her awake long into the night for weeks and weeks until she had been feeling like she was going insane, the cases she had worked, Hank and his lies and Elaine, it had all dragged her deeper and then Nick had fallen into the path of Walter Gordon… had followed the clues… it could have so easily been any one of them…

And yet all those hours as they had frantically searched, everything else had fallen away, paled into insignificance, as she had thought of nothing but finding Nick and finding him safe. It was only later, when sitting alone in the workroom and filling in the reels and reels of paperwork about the case, that she had been given the time to think. To actually begin to attempt to process the events which she had been through, and the maze of feelings that she had been lost in, to try and write a clear and precise account which she usually found so simple.

It had been in pulling all the evidence together that she had come to realise that they had been through this together. As a team. A team she was still a part of

She had felt the guilt burn her. How could she have been so shallow, so blind, and so self-indulgent as to think she was alone? How dare she have expected them to notice that she was unhappy when their own lives were far from perfect and she too had never offered them the attention she had thought she was due? They all suffered, in that she was not alone and in fact her morbid thoughts couldn't have been further from the truth. It had taken hours of pure knife edged horror to remind her of her own inadequacies. They would have been happy to offer her anything had she been brave enough to ask for help.

She had felt her cheeks flush with shame at the extent of her own languid self-pity and had been struck by a desperate need to repent.

It had come to her in the blink of an eye that if, God forbid, it had been her buried deep beneath the misguided hatred of a crazed man, a man who's driving love had been so twisted by circumstance, that she would have had at least five people fighting desperately for her. People who would miss her. People who cared for her.

Yes they hadn't treated her as well as she had liked, but they were human, they had faults, but when it came down to it they had been there when things had gotten tough and as far as their crimes towards her… she too had been guilty of many things. She wasn't easy, that she did know.

Awful as it was to say it, even think it, it had been the kick she had needed.

She had seen how precious it all was, how easily everything could be taken away and she didn't want to live in this tiny isolated box any longer and there were things she could do about that. There was still time and that precious time was now.

She had been unable to concentrate on her work. She had left the lab, leaving her paperwork in an ever-mounting pile and had set off across the city. The walk had been long, but had passed in a blur and she had fallen into the chair beside Nick's hospital bed exhausted, but elated, buoyed by a new lease of life.

She had talked to Nick's sleeping form. Confessed everything, told him how much he meant to her.

That had been where Grissom had found her, his arrival perfect timing and for once they had both been in the right place at the right time.

Both been on the same page.

She felt a smile creep the corners of her mouth upwards from the frown her thoughts had dipped there. Her fingertips found her lips.

He'd kissed her. He'd held her. He'd taken her out for coffee. All without it being awkward, all without all that awkward conversation she had thought they had needed.

But what did she know! Nothing, obviously.

For the first time since Grissom had called and asked her to come and work with him in Las Vegas she had felt that feeling of excitement in her belly. Things were beginning to fall into place.

From the depths of great fear, sadness and suffering, fighting the adversity was for once working and wonderful things were starting to bloom from the ashes.

Was he really going to go for cocktails at the Peppermill? Grissom?

She had to admit that after the events of the last few weeks she had to wonder if maybe Nick had actually been telling the truth.

Especially after Grissom had taken her to breakfast after shift the other morning, just the two of them. They'd shared a meal of pancakes and coffee and toast. He had even forgone meat in her presence without saying a word.

All these small unspoken considerations, she wasn't used to this from him. Although he had always been able to surprise her, even if her list of people who could do that had increased ten-fold since she had begun working cases for CSI Las Vegas.

Sadly their meal had been shattered by a ringing cell phone. He'd been called back to the Lab, but he'd even managed to look genuinely reluctant to leave.

She sighed again but this time it wasn't sadly, realising with a shake of her head that she still stood beside her kitchen cabinets with her phone in her hand. She bit her lip thoughtfully as she took one last look at the pile of books she had been so looking forward to enjoying, but suddenly they didn't look as appealing as they once had.

Maybe she should go…

Sliding her phone back into its charger with a beep she headed for her bedroom. She caught her reflection in the freestanding mirror and pulled a face at herself, yet her eyes were different, they glittered. Breaking into a grin she drew open her closet door.

She scanned the stretch of neatly organised clothing before her.

She pursed her lips squeezing a sigh out between them.

The team, her team, was having a celebration.

She wanted to go.

_**0000000000**_

The stream of teenagers pouring down the steps of Butterfield Academy had trickled to a few stragglers by the time Catherine had fought the traffic across town.

Pulling her car to the curb she scanned the thinned out crowd of young people for her daughter, finally picking out the familiar shock of strawberry blond hair leaning against the steps surrounded by a group of other dejected looking young girls.

Better school, better teachers, better facilities, better families, better kids, bigger fees. Yet the brochure wasn't really living up to its promises in her mind.

Lindsay had only been a student there a term and she had already settled herself in amongst the kids on the top of the principles hit list. Hell if she was anything like her mother, or the behaviour she had recently displayed at home she was probably their Queen by now.

They'd both had a bad few years, God knew they had been through enough, and she worked too much and slept too little and throwing into the mix the spiralling potency of teenage hormones was a disaster waiting to happen, truth be told, she hardly recognised her child anymore.

What had happened to the tiny little thing that had refused to have a birthday party with her friends and had only wanted to spend time with her eating ice creams at the park?

She grew up…

Leaning her arm around the top of the steering wheel she stared at her daughter, willing her to look in her direction. She had never wanted to be one of those mothers who went charging over and embarrassed their child, but the waiting was getting on her last nerve. All she wanted was to go home and slide into her bathtub and maybe even drink away the troubles of today. Then maybe she and Lindsay could watch a movie, make popcorn… quality time… like they used to share.

That was it.

With a sigh she dragged the keys from the ignition and slid out of the car, shutting the door she waited there, her arms folded.

She saw Lindsay look up, caught the expression on her face and felt her heart tear at the expression. The look was one of embarrassed disgust. Outright hostility. She knew she had been nothing but trouble for her mother when she had been Lindsay's age. Even more so, but her mother had always warned her that one day she would know what that was like. Karma certainly bites. If Lindsay ever did some of the things… she couldn't even bring herself to think it.

Lowering her shoulders and straightening her back she forced a smile to her face, raising her hand in a discreet wave.

She saw her daughters answering roll of the eyes and she turned away so that she couldn't see the words she knew were coming next even mouthed. Not today.

She tugged the heavy door back open. Sliding back into the dark interior of the car and its cool. She let the door close and finally returned her eyes in Lindsay's direction to see her sauntering in the right direction followed by three others.

She watched as Lindsay turned back to the others and then headed over to the car alone. She twisted the key in the ignition, feeling it purr to life beneath her. Yet Lindsay wasn't getting in. Instead she tapped on the driver's side window.

Shaking her head Catherine lowered the glass, the questioning look on her face only a Willow's woman would question.

"What are you doing here Mom?"

"What am I doing here?" Catherine's response was burning with incredulity and a frustration that was close to breaking. "What am I doing here?"

"We're sleeping at Lana's." The tone was clipped; the shoulders tense as she leaned in and stressed, "I told you Mom."

Catherine wracked her brain trying to remember anything that had happened over the last twenty-four hours.

The sound of another car pulling up behind, caused both to turn their gaze.

"I gotta go," Lindsay said backing away from the window as her friends came up behind her.

Then she was gone and Catherine could only lean back against her seat and watch as the other car moved out and around hers carrying away that person who looked so very much like her daughter, but who hadn't even said goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up...) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_Also I had forgotten to put in my previous chapters that I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!! Please forgive me!! I have rectified it now! I also don't own any of the other Casino's mentioned. _

_**Author Notes**__: I am afraid I have never been to Las Vegas (even though I am dying too – although I would be scouring the streets for William Petersen and go home sulking if I failed to meet him!) So I am making up most of what Vegas is like from what I have seen on CSI and travel shows and in a guidebook!!_

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! Rianne xXx_

**Stars in Motion.**

**By Rianne.**

_Chapter Three._

Rust, that was the only colour to describe Vegas in the late afternoon. The air was filled with a rustic glow more suited to leaves in the autumn than the colourful lights of the casinos on The Strip.

They gave up on their taxi half way down Las Vegas Boulevard, the traffic at a standstill, and even the lull of the car's AC was no temperance to their impatience. Tumbling out onto the sidewalk, suddenly swamped by a wave of heat, they found themselves not far from the Stardust and all immediately and automatically secured their sunglasses into place. Blinking harshly against the low sun. Vampires accustomed to working the night shift.

Grissom couldn't resist a small smile, which twitched the corners of his lips, as he looked around him into the swirling crowds of tourists. They were a curiosity to him. The gambling and the sunshine drew them in from all corners of the world bringing with them their entangling conversations, in their differing tongues, languages, and dialects. Their laughter and animation was intoxicatingly exciting to him and anyone else who just let the ripple of their surroundings flow over them. They buzzed about him, all creating an insect-like hum in the air which accompanied the way they danced, swerving and ducking in and out and around one another down the crowded concourse.

Their coloured rainbows of tasteless, garish clothes like reflections of the beating of natural light flickering down from huge hotel complexes. The sun blasting off so many reflective surfaces at once as to blind and stun. It wouldn't be long before the sun kissed the sand far out in the desert and the City burst into gaudy neon sparkling light. Sharpening its alien existence against the beautiful quiet of the vibrant red dunes that stretched as far as the eye could see from the crumbling edges of the desert oasis.

His grin spread as excitement began to fill him, he couldn't even remember the last time he had been out like this. He wasn't out to help someone drown their sorrows at the bottom of a whiskey glass he was out in honour of a celebration. It felt good and he wanted to remember that.

Warrick and Nick fell into step beside him as they headed North along the Boulevard.

Ahead of them the Stratosphere's Big Shot blasted up into the abyss-like expanse of brilliant blue sky, the desert wind wafting the passenger's screams down The Strip towards them, as they plummeted back to earth, catching Grissom's attention.

Seeing what had caught Grissom's interest, Warrick broke in with a definite, "No!"

"What?" Grissom came back, turning towards him, picture of innocence, knowing full well that he was busted.

"I am not riding on any more coasters with you… and definitely not tonight. Plus…" He paused for effect a cheeky grin plastered on his face. "I've got responsibilities now." He punctuated his sentence with a shrug of his shoulders that made Nick slap his arm, hard.

Through his laughter Nick managed to mouth '_responsibilities_' in mock horror at Grissom as if it was a dirty word and he a fourteen-year-old boy.

Music swelled around them each time they passed an entranceway. Rock, Muzak, Classical, Big Band, Slot Machine. The sounds swirling into the air in an uncoordinated symphony that segued with ease into its uncoordinated surroundings.

The pyramid peak of the Luxor. The Statue of Liberty. The Eiffel tower of the Paris Casino thrown into violent contradiction with its giant hot air balloon. The pirates and cannon blasts of Treasure Island. Egypt one minute, then New York. Paris in a heartbeat, Venice the next, then the middle of the ocean on a pirate ship.

A place that had barely existed a century ago, and had no history whatsoever, had instead stolen pieces of everyone else's identity in order to create an entirely new one. The wonders of the world all in one Technicolor place.

It was noisy, vibrant, interesting and for the first time in a long time Grissom was thankful that he had his hearing back. To think he might have missed out on this crazy concerto! Missed out the way he had almost missed out on so many things.

Almost missed out on Sara.

For a flash she was right there before him, his huge beaming smile mirrored on her beautiful face.

All because he had been afraid of what he would loose if he tried. The surgery might have gone wrong; he could have been left deaf or if not completely without his hearing still considerably worse than before. Left to remember the pleasure of what he had lost.

And Sara…

He'd told Dr. Lurie, in a voice he hadn't recognised as his own, that he could not take the risk that he had, give up everything he had worked for, his solitude, his uncomplicated existence, even if it was for someone young and beautiful… someone he could care about… _did_ care about.

Yet he had finally done it, taken that plunge, had the surgery, kissed Sara, and in both cases he had received nothing but pleasure for his courage.

How much he had to be thankful for, how much he had which he had taken for granted before now.

Like this City. He tilted his head upwards towards the towering buildings as they stretched up into the brilliant blue cloudless sky. It was funny how little of the details you noticed living in a place all the time. To tourists the place could bring them to their knees figuratively and financially, but it took moments like this to remind some Vegas residents that they lived in one of the most interesting, and admittedly tasteless, places on earth.

"Hey!"

"Hey, earth to Grissom!"

He slowed, turning back to find both Warrick and Nick a few paces behind him, staring with curiously knowing smiles on their faces.

"So…who is she, Man?" Warrick joked tilting his chin up, with no honest idea that his question fell quite so close to the truth.

"Huh?" Grissom could only respond with a single syllable his eyes growing wide, in what the guys luckily deemed confusion.

They couldn't know!

He knew that during her early days in Vegas, Sara's obvious crush on him had been the subject of many surreptitious conversations and he would hazard to guess even a few bets, but surely they couldn't know already?

Sara hadn't told them about spending time with him… had she…?

She couldn't have told them about their dates, wait…did she even think that they were dates? He had seen it as a date. Did she realise that in taking her to breakfast that that had been his intention?

But no, no, it wasn't like her to be indiscreet. She cared for the guys, but any information she gave them was either wheedled out of her or given in tauntingly brief snippet-like details so as to drive them crazy. She knew how to play them that was for sure. And him on many an occasion too, as he had strained to hear as much about her private life as he could all the while pretending not to care as the unwelcome pangs of jealousy had twisted his insides.

But wait… Warrick was still talking… Still trying to gauge why he wasn't as… as 'Grissom' as he put it, as usual.

And now Nick…

"Come on Griss, you can tell us, you've certainly been sneaking off at the end of shift a lot recently, and smiling a lot more, and…" Nick drifted off, both palms slightly raised, as he ran out of examples to define the changes in his boss.

They were reaching and they knew it.

But they had all noticed the change in him, heck he had even noticed the change in himself. He should have known he'd never get it past these guys.

Grissom cocked his head and with a raise of his eyebrow he employed a technique he had picked up from a certain Ms. Sidle, he simply smiled at them and said nothing.

"Awwww, come on!" they both complained in unison. Watching helplessly as Grissom stepped on in front of them and continued to walk along, a new swagger to his gait. Completely in control. When truthfully he had just been unable to look at them anymore without breaking into laughter!

Now they'd be really curious!

"You Sir!"

The voice broke him out of his triumph.

Turning Grissom found himself face to face with a man.

_**0000000000**_

If reckless driving could be a cure for what ailed you Catherine Willows would be just so damn fine right now that she couldn't see straight.

She swung the heavy weight of her SUV with abandoned motions, careering around every corner and was leaving braking in the hands of the driving God's it seemed.

All she could think about was the look of utter disgust that had crossed her daughters face moments before she had shot her down with such ease.

It was her own fault she knew that.

She had been so set on raising her child to be a strong woman that she had unwittingly turned her own child against her. Just great. She was always the one who had gone on and on about rights and power and not letting anyone talk down to you or tell you what to do. Except she had forgotten to add that '_your mother_' was one of the very few people you did need to listen to. That and the Law.

It was her own fault. She had only wanted to save her daughter from some of the disadvantages she had been forced to endure as she had grown up. Yet she had somehow managed to turn her only child away from her at a time in her life when everything was difficult for a young girl. Teenager. The word even had an ugly tone to it. A dirty spitting sound to the syllables.

It was her own fault.

She worked too much, tried too hard to put food on the table, a roof over their heads, and send Lindsay to the best school.

'_A place with tighter reigns'_ she had told Nick a few weeks back. Yet it seemed she was nowhere near in control.

She was handing down all her worst faults to her child.

Forced into stopping at a red light she lowered her head to the steering wheel, just her eyes peeping out between the gaps in the circle of leather as she stared at the red glowing before her, willing it to change to her advantage and suddenly she didn't know what that was anymore.

Home, she wanted to get home. Yet the lab often felt more like home to her these days. She spent most of her time there after all. Which was just perfect after all that she had said to Grissom about his workaholic tendencies and his lack of a personal life. At least the lab was simple. She could see why it appealed to him so much. There all the problems could be solved, well eventually solved, with machines and tests and high-tech equipment. Rational, calm, clinical.

She longed for that simplicity in her private life.

Yet she couldn't resist the part of her that craved the fast paced excitement of causing trouble, of dating two men at once, of dancing barely concealed for more men that she could count. Of actually having the power for once.

The power that recently had slipped so easily through her tenuous grasp.

She'd been somewhat demoted when the team got back together, she had lost Warrick, although not hers exactly she still felt the sting of missing the boat, she had created a distance between herself and Lindsay which was becoming so big as to be unfathomable. Eddie had been killed, she had discovered that Sam Braun was her father…

Yet she had survived, as she always did.

Behind her a car horn blasted violently.

"All right!" she growled back at the guy waving angrily at her in her rear-view mirror.

The light was now on green and obviously had been for a while. Or maybe not. Vegas wasn't known for its patient drivers.

She threw the car into gear and screeched wildly to the left, hearing the wheels spin and wanted to be anywhere on earth than here right now.

By a simple twist of fate she actually made it home in one piece. She pulled her car into her slanty drive and cut the power savagely.

Dragging her purse and her discarded suit jacket from the passenger seat she dragged her body out of the cool of the air-con and slammed the door behind her. Beeping the car locked she didn't even look back as she headed for the house.

It was quiet inside. The only noise the faint bubbling sound from the fish tank filter that Lindsay had promised she'd clean last weekend.

Dumping her belongings onto the counter she leaned nearer to the bubbling blue, which was actually more of a murky green on closer inspection, and tapped against the glass by a fish that floated belly-up on the surface. Another dead thing. Just what she needed.

It was too quiet. She could hear her own breathing. The frustration aching through her body making her respirations heavy and more like sighs.

The trail of destruction seemed lead all the way through her house right up to her daughter's bedroom. Homework, clearly not finished, on the kitchen table, an ice cream tub lit in a pool of sunlight. She lifted the lid already knowing that she would find a pool of sour milk.

She followed the trail. Expensive school uniform, and some clothing so skimpy that she definitely did not buy for her daughter, all draped and thrown across the living room chairs. Finally she came to a pause in the doorway of Lindsay's bedroom as she took in the desolation. Somewhere beneath all the discarded clothing, makeup, magazines and plates and cans of soda she could just make out the pretty carpet and bedding she and Lindsay had gone together to pick on the last mother and daughter day they had managed to share. It seemed like a million years ago. It couldn't have been more than a few months.

That was it. She sighed heavily as she fell against the doorframe unable to even withstand her own weight.

She no longer had the patience for bath and calm relaxing evening she had been dying for.

To hell with that!

Stalking back to the kitchen, kicking her shoes in two different directions, she threw open a kitchen cupboard and drew out a bottle of red wine. The good stuff, she had been saving it.

To hell with that too!

Uncorking the bottle between her knees in the most guttural fashion she finally dragged the stopper out, flicking back her hair with the motion before filling herself the biggest glass she had.

Her trail to her bedroom unconsciously imitated her daughters as she let her clothes fall away as she moved.

She felt as rebellious as Lindsay.

Damn, it was no wonder Lindsay was the way she was. She was her mother's daughter through and through!

Passing the CD player she flicked the power on, twisting the volume high, not caring what kind of music spilt out, she just wanted to have something to fill the empty space.

The wine was loosening her up somewhat and she couldn't help but shake her head at herself in the hallway mirror. Half naked and rumpled, her hair rippling.

And the wine was good. Not what she usually drank, but it was dark and rich and sinfully powerful. It was perfect for her mood.

Taking the glass and the bottle with her into the bathroom she slipped nude into the scalding spray of her shower, groaning as the water slammed against her tense shoulders. Tilting her face up into the power of the spray.

That was a way to better.

But the wine had its pull. She rushed through her ablutions, the scent of her expensive shampoo filling the enclosed space. She turned the water off with a jerk. Shrugging a towel from the rack she circled herself with the soft fabric and then grabbed her deep red liquid and headed for her closet. Beads of cooling water trailing down the back of her heated spine from the tendrils of her golden hair making her shiver.

Underwear was easy, only the best, something sexy and lacy and black.

Taking a deep, long, cool sip she dragged out her favourite tight black jeans, and a black low cut top. Heels, hmmm…

She wrinkled her nose, oh to hell with that too. She selected her sexiest, and of course most evil pair.

Her heated curlers were lightening quick to reach temperature. Either that or time was slowing down just for her, or maybe the wine was actually working.

New make up, slightly glittery, slightly smoky, pretty sexy, splash of musky perfume.

She didn't need another invitation. She knew where they were going. She didn't need to call them.

Calling a cab instead she came to stand before the hall mirror again, glass still in hand.

She looked good.

Damn Warrick and the awkwardness. He could get over it if she could. He was the one who had moved on after all.

She needed this. She needed to get out, drinks, maybe some dancing. Her friends.

She had to change this crappy day. These crappy last few weeks.

Yes, this was just what she needed.

_**0000000000**_

"Oh…No," Grissom shook his head rhythmically, backing up, slow quick steps.

"Yes, you Sir, you're perfect,"

"I…er…" Grissom raised his palms towards the man who only advanced towards him unrelenting. He was still shaking his head, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

The crowd gathered were all looking at him now. He couldn't believe this. What about him always drew attention like this? Why him? Didn't he just scream socially awkward?

"Yeah! Go on Griss!" Nick joked, pushing him forward and into the centre space the Magician had created for his act.

He found he couldn't even glare at Nick, even when he thoroughly deserved it. This was possibly going to become a problem.

This was the karma he got for not confessing to them about his new lady friend!

"Excellent!" Cried the Magician theatrically, placing a hand on Grissom's shoulder, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have our volunteer! What is your name Sir?"

"Gil!" Shouted Warrick cupping his palms against his lips so the sound travelled from over the top of the crowd, where he and Nick stood their laughter open and delighted, as Grissom tried to make himself small, willing the ground to swallow him.

"Ah, Gil!" the Magician smiled, tilting his head at Grissom, drawing a silk scarf out of thin air.

Then with a click of his fingers he opened his palm and a white dove flew out of the scarf fluttering up into the air to land with a calm swoop on the Magician's arm.

With a flick of his hand the dove disappeared as quickly as it had appeared to a resounding applause from the crowd.

"Alright now Gil," he said focussing upon him as he reached forward drawing a box of playing cards from behind Grissom's ear.

Holding the box up to the audience he then tipped the cards out, passing them to Grissom he instructed that he check that they were a regular pack of cards. Grissom felt the crowd lean forward as he checked through the pack, confirming that they were in fact genuine.

"All right, I'd like you to pick a card for me." The Magician requested. "And don't worry about being secretive, it's not that kind of trick." He told the interested crowd.

Selecting the four of hearts, Grissom was then handed a pen and instructed to write his name across the card.

In big letters he scrawled '_GIL_' before handing the card back, his curiosity finally slightly awakened.

The Magician then slid the card back into the middle of the pack. Sticking out slightly so they could check it was the same card.

They checked and it was, and was held up to the audience.

Then the cards were shuffled again, and placed back in the box.

Then from behind Grissom's other ear the Magician drew out a nickel.

This too was signed by Grissom as the Magician explained that the nickel was going to help them find Gil's chosen card. The coin was then wrapped in a small square of tissue paper. Then held up for scrutiny. Then the coin wrapped in tissue was placed on top of the box of cards.

The Magician turned to the audience, " Does anyone have a light?" he asked.

Several seconds of rummaging later a lady produced a square green plastic lighter from the depths of her handbag.

Passing it to the front the Magician took it, and with a dramatic flick he set fire to the tissue paper in a flash.

"Fire in the hole!" some one in the crowd, who sounded suspiciously like Nick Stokes, cried.

The crowd leaned ever closer, watching as the tissue paper around the coin burnt and with it the heated coin burnt a small circular hole through the cards as well as the box. The coin fell into the hole quickly burning its way through the layers of cards.

Blowing gently on the box the Magician then opened it and tipping out the cards the Magician showed off the signed coin, and then the circular hole burnt almost the whole way through the deck, but as he took away the burnt cards and finally reached the first solid, unburnt or scorched card he lifted it up for scrutiny.

The first untouched card was in fact Grissom's signed Four of Hearts!!

The crowd burst into applause!!

Grissom grinned like a little boy!

The Magician bowed as the applause quietened. "Let's hear a round of applause for my assistant, Gil!"

The crowd clapped again as Gil dipped his head embarrassed once more and tried to edge back towards the safety of the crowd.

"May all your dreams come true Gil." The Magician saluted him before disappearing into the crowd himself in the blink of an eye.

_They are starting to already._

Grissom couldn't help thinking as he returned to where Warrick and Nick were waiting. He approached them shaking his head warningly at their elated grins, with as much false anger as he could!

They were so going to get it.

But he just couldn't keep a straight face; he tried so hard but he couldn't resist and just had to laugh right along with them, covering his face with his hands, as he groaned aloud.

When they finally caught their breath and Grissom found he could form words again he breathlessly stuttered, "God, I hope this place isn't much further!"

Following Warrick's lifted arm he saw that they were just a few feet away.

"Thank goodness!"

The dark interior looked so inviting right now. Sliding through the doorway, past a heavyset bouncer dressed all in black, they headed down some stairs into the dim cool interior.

Grissom couldn't hide his look of surprise as he took in his surroundings. It was much nicer, and classier than he had expected.

Nick, catching his expression, couldn't help but tease with a Cheshire Cat grin. "Don't worry Griss, the strippers are coming later!"

And Grissom could do nothing but stare at him as his jaw dropped a little, unsure as to whether or not he should believe him!


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up...) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!! _

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! And apologies for the delay – for some reason this chapter just gave me grief! _

_And on another note – they screened 'For Gedda' here in the UK this week…just speechless…_

_And I'd like to say an extra special thank you to all those somewhat trusting souls who have posted personal pictures of their nights out at the Peppermill in Vegas on Flickr so that I could spy at them (to see what the place really looks like of course!!) ;) Rianne xXx_

**Stars in Motion.**

**By Rianne.**

_Chapter four._

The table was thankfully out of the way near the back, but even that didn't detract from the fact that it was secluded from the outside world by a bough of bright pink azaleas. And the fact that there was a blossom tree growing in the middle of the restaurant… A freaking tree!

The old Grissom would have wished desperately that he were anywhere else, anywhere, but this new, putting an effort into relaxing, Grissom had a belly full of good food and was happily sipping on cold beer and could almost bring himself to imagine he was sitting in some quaint taverna lost on some out-of-the-way Greek isle.

Imagine that the breeze from the air con was floating in ebbs off the ocean.

Calm, dim and classy… almost romantic…

Except for the neon…

And the guys.

And as long as you ignored the TV screens which projected images of flickering flames in a log cabin fire…

Fireside lounge… Hmmmm…

Vegas came crashing back into focus around him.

Pink and blue glowed from strips in the ceilings and beat out from the Bunsen burner like flames that danced in the centre fountains…

At least the music was quiet, almost sedate as it murmured in the background.

It didn't strike him as the kind of place that guys like Warrick and Nick frequented a lot – It was hardly masculine…but it was nice and empty. It was only late afternoon after all, if you discounted the fact that you were in Vegas where entertainment was 24 hr.

It was certainly tacky enough for a traditional Bachelor party though. Maybe that was why Nick had suggested it.

Not that he considered himself any kind of expert on Bachelor parties, but he had certainly investigated the aftermath of quite a few…

But he was making a concerted effort not to view this as a chore, or something he had to quietly endure. He could relax and just be himself. This wasn't work. Here he wasn't their boss, he was Gil Grissom, man, loner invited. Actually invited to be social, and actually enjoying himself, not that he would admit it even if he were pressed to.

Thing was he'd always been a loner, at times been so preoccupied with his own thoughts and studies that he had not noticed that he had allowed the world to slip away or that others viewed him with curiosity and a little sadness.

But when had he made it a way of life?

Being alone, he had begun to recognize over the last few months, was something he had managed to talk himself into thinking he had no choice in. A bed he had made for himself where he found he couldn't get untangled from the sheets, the hole he had dug so deeply he couldn't climb its crumbling sides. But when he looked back with a little of the wisdom born of age and tragic experience, he had to wonder if maybe it wasn't completely true that he had no choice. In childhood shyness, anxiety and a little bit of fear had held him back from joining in, that and the fact that ten-year-old boys do stupid things and always will do.

But when had the fear of being different and having to work at being accepted or at least interesting to others, evolved into the deeper fear of even trying to connect with other people?

Into such awkwardness and fumbling when things got emotional?

Why when he saw others in pain did his usually brilliant mind just seemed to fail him?

When had these issues developed into such a mistrust of others and their motives for wanting his attentions?

He had always excelled at his studies and it was only natural to strive in areas of your life that you were naturally good at, and it was only natural that it always seemed harder to keep up motivation when faced with challenge. Of course it was easier when a little effort could gain praise and you also enjoyed the process. Yet his work, it was by nature solitary. Others contaminated the crime scenes, didn't work as to the book, or as beyond it, as he did, and they folded over pages in his textbooks...

Burying himself in his work and his reading had pleased him; he had made himself invisible, a ghost like he had admitted to his team.

No one liked to get picked on, bullied, tormented, he had seen enough evidence of it happening to others in his school years and even in his adult life, and in his work he had seen the way those victims were driven to respond to it, yet these defensive walls he had erected, now that he looked back they were closer to preventative measures of protection than necessary ones. Sure he had been embarrassed, been shot down over the years, even made to look stupid at times, usually in a social situation, but never in any way that was any more severe than experienced on a regular basis by any other child, or even adult for that matter.

So where, he realised, had he managed to develop such a lack of awareness? Such a lack of acceptance that others didn't do things the way he did, or the way he thought they should?

Misanthrope.

It was a word he didn't like. Yet it described him and so often his behaviour towards others, perfectly.

He could joke about it, but only in that awkward way that clearly showed that the comment was far too close to the truth, and that was why it hurt…

Maybe it came from being an only child, for he had only ever really had to look out for himself, consider his own feelings, well his own feelings and those of the deceased he studied to a certain extent, "I'm not really about the why," he heard himself intone.

He was just so used to his own solitude, his own ways and his own silences.

Can't teach an old dog new tricks…

He had survived years alone and been completely… well almost happy about it, but just like having his hearing surgery had shown him there was a whole world of sound he hadn't realised he had slowly been tuning out, so it was with his interactions with others. He had been given a taste of human reactions again, as a team leader, as a friend, as a man…

The softness of Sara's sigh as she had curled herself intimately into his arms had been even more potent than a thousand distant praises of his entomological achievements.

Life was complicated… and he was learning that making the effort was well worth it.

It really wasn't so bad. It was nice to have these new distractions, the ones he had feared would wreak havoc on his investigative powers. But they hadn't. He liked this sharing thing, he found he did have things he could talk about outside of the lab, and the more he partook in these 'social experiments' if you will, the more he had to talk about when on them. The whole bonding experience was as embarrassingly buoyant as the Human Resources mandatory videos made out! Not that he would admit to that either!

He looked to his right at Nick and across the table at Warrick, watching as they shovelled in their meals, absorbing their easy camaraderie and humour. It looked so effortless for them, they always seemed to know just what to say, and there were no deathly silences and awkward pauses between them.

He wasn't sure he would ever be able to match their ease, but he was working on it. He was trying.

And at least he wasn't over dressed. Thank goodness he left the tie behind.

He'd gotten his first glances of the Peppermill as he had followed the guys down the steps to the hostess stand, glaring at Nick's back, well aware that his shaking shoulders meant he was still laughing to himself about his little strippers comment.

He had set his jaw indignantly, pursing his lips; they had laughed enough at him already.

"Food!" Nick had said with a humorous tilt of his head in his direction, noting his bosses still wary expression as they were guided by a blonde woman in a black uniform to a circular table surrounded by a horseshoe shaped comfy pink cushioned seat… and flowers galore…

Black leather-bound menus had come next, soft to the touch and filled with delicious sounding words and he suddenly realised how hungry he was.

The drinks were ordered. Three beers. In glasses frosted by beads of condensation.

They had clinked glasses in a hasty toast as the food had interrupted them.

The service had been quick and the steaming bowls of food wafting hazy clouds of fragrance had become an easy focus and conversation had lulled and then been unnecessary for a while.

_**0000000000**_

"Greggo! Guys!" Nick shouted, waving his half drunk beer precariously and over excitedly in the air in a swoop as he spotted the three men walking towards their table.

Around him Grissom and Warrick moved quickly to move the dishes of food out of the way as they hitched closer on the seats to allow Greg, to slide in next to Warrick as Doc. Robbins and Brass to set themselves down next to Grissom.

"Found these two outside!" Greg threw out with a smile.

"Nice shirt, Man!" Warrick commented, raising his eyebrows at Greg's torn, slightly punky, outfit as he slumped into the seat. "They let you in here without ID, right?" he questioned.

Greg grimaced at him, before grinning broadly, as the pretty blonde hostess returned, disturbing their reunion and stunned them by capturing Greg's face between her palms and dropping a deep kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and dragging him and his smug smile away with her to the bar.

Even Grissom had to nod in approval, shaking his head as Brass slapped the table with his palm muttering "I'll be damned," in amazement and they all eyed each other with bewildered laughter in their eyes.

"So that's why this place is known as one of the ten best make out spots in the city!" Nick cried, copying Brass's motion by slapping his palm against the tabletop whilst pretending to search out his very own flirtatious waitress!

When no such female appeared he groaned, "Oh come on! Warrick gets a wife, Greg gets a waitress… where's mine?!" But no one was really listening to him.

Brass was leaning across the table to shake Warrick's hand heartily offering his congratulations, whilst beside him the Doc was saying "Can't stay long, the Wife's expecting me…but thought I'd come commiserate!" he reached over as Brass relinquished his stronghold on the younger man's hand to also give Warrick a rigorous shake as he broke into a grin. "Seriously though, best of luck!"

Warrick smiled wryly, as Nick slapped his shoulder, "Yeah, we may be pissed that you somehow forgot to invite us, or even hint to us, or introduce us…" Nick told him in a mock serious tone, pausing for effect. "But we forgive you man!"

And at that the group dissolved into laughter shaking their heads.

And Warrick could only dip his head with a smile, raising his palms to them, in defeated response.

_**0000000000**_

The cab driver eyed the blond in his rear-view mirror with an expression triangulated somewhere between lust, want and exasperation.

He'd known this one was trouble from the moment he had pulled up in front of her house and seen her totter down the sloping drive in her heels. Sexy heels no less, tight jeans and a pair of movie star glasses.

Behind her the sinking sun set fire to the golden red curls in her hair, but she was certainly no angel!

She was trouble.

Amusing, witty too.

But trouble.

He dropped her off outside the Stardust and watched her totter away with a tinge of regret.

_**0000000000**_

By the time Greg slunk smugly back to join them he was laden down with a huge tray of drinks.

"So…" Nick questioned the younger CSI. "Go on… how much did you have to pay her for that little display, huh?"

The others looked away to hide their laughter, but the only place to look was the table, and the tray Greg had delivered.

Their laughter faded somewhat.

Greg said nothing, just swept his hand gleefully over the drinks he had brought and they weren't just any drinks either.

"House special!" he grinned with a hostess induced glitter in his eye, as he deftly ignored their questioning looks and Nick's enquiry.

House special… it was true, but cocktails were hardly bachelor party drinks…

Especially when they were rainbow coloured concoctions filled with shiny umbrellas and streamers and plastic mixers shaped like naked mermaids.

"A Toast!!" Nick cried, "To Warrick!"

If they could laugh at him, they could drink…

An evil gleam crept into Nick's eyes as he hastily grabbed the nearest glass and glared at the others until they unwillingly each took one too. With muttered grumbles about their injured masculinity most plucked out the offending cocktail bits and pieces as they cautiously scrutinised the drinks, and then sent the gaudy paraphernalia soaring Nick Stokes way as he reiterated with a loud, "To Warrick!"

Their glasses met in a swish and a clink of colourful liquid as they all raised their cocktails and then tried their best to down the sweet, sickly syrups and spirits in one racing go, laughter making them choke as dribbles slid down their chins. Tinsel and other ornaments began flipping across the table at one another in order to break their opponents drinking concentration, attempting to create colourful fountains out of nostrils.

Greg finished first slamming the glass down on the table with a flourish, quickly followed by the others, as they all came up for breath gasping frantically, their faces twisted into grimaces at the overwhelming sticky sweetness.

Behind Greg his waitress friend appeared again, laughing at their faces, in her left hand she balanced a tray of clear shooters in shiny plastic neon shot glasses. "Here you go boys," she teased winking at Greg as she began to hand out the shooters, "this ought to take away that taste! So what else can I get you?"

Grissom knocked back his spirit, blinking back his gasp as the icy liquid burned his throat, then he wiped his fingers against his lips, removing the excess as he chuckled, feeling like he was twenty years old.

Around him they all conveyed their orders, and he added his more grown up and sedate choice of whisky to the list along with Brass's beer and Al's soda water, as the waitress noted each selection.

"Nick Stokes," came the surprise polite Southern introduction, accompanied by a rise and the extension of his hand towards Greg's friend across the table. If Greg wouldn't tell him anything he'd have to ask for himself!

Brass had to hold back his growl of laughter as he met Al's eyes, such behaviour seemed dated even to them. You can take the man out of the South…but…

Greg's friend had the courtesy to hide her flush and bemusement at Nick's gentleman-like actions and instead of joining her hand with his she slipped a shot glass into the extended fingers making the others laugh together again.

"Callie," she admitted with a lilt and a sly tilt of her head as she tapped her work badge, clearly playing to her audience, whilst deftly trying not to laugh right along with the others at Nick as he examined the plastic neon in his hand openly confused.

"So…" Nick drawled on, blinking away his confusion. "How do you know Greg…?" as he continued on ignoring his rebuff and Greg's obvious veto signs of cutting off his oxygen supply. He set his jaw and eyes at Greg's violent signing motions.

"Greg?" Callie asked with a curiously perplexed expression as she gave out the last of the shooters and scooped up her tray with her left hand. "Who's that?"

With a long teasing caress up Greg's arm from bare wrist to shoulder with the taunting tips of her fingers she slipped away with a sultry swing of her hips, as all the men at the table laughed and hurled their cocktail favour ammunition at Greg's head until he turned his attention back to them his face graced with a dopey lovesick expression.

_**0000000000**_

The man behind the counter eyed the slightly crazed whirling dervish actions of the blonde with amused detachment as she threw rapid grasping handfuls of things into the basket she cradled on one hip. Her face delightfully contorted with a devilishly wild mischievous smile as she made her choices. He was used to behaviour like this, it was the half expected, half anticipated, amusement of running a party based store, but his customers weren't usually so frantic, or so pretty, although most were usually this drunk.

People watching had become one of his favourite hobbies, it passed the time and was certainly better than looking around the walls of his store all day, the bad taste crap he sold seemed to make the tourists go nuts, glittering curtains, party hats, masks, banners, hula skirts, coconut bra's…but it was worse than distasteful, although the adult section wasn't bad…

He broke into a grin at that, the leering dirty kind that had always gotten him into trouble in high school. He tried his best to turn the leer into a flirtatious smirk as he noticed the woman he had been watching was approaching the counter.

She hitched the basket onto the counter, drawing her lips into a sharp line as she noticed that the guy about to serve her was looking straight at her full breasts.

When a grimace didn't do it she outright frowned.

Ignoring her indignation he winked at her as he parcelled up her items, tilling them up with an irritatingly placid grin as she tapped her foot with anxious impatience.

"Going somewhere fun?" He attempted to ease the increasingly awkward silence as he fought to ease the items into the bag. Her intent scrutiny making his spine crawl and his fingers tremble a little, making the usually simple action fumbly and embarrassing. Her annoyance at the time he was taking was clearly mounting; the foot tapping was increasing in tempo and it certainly wasn't her attempt at dancing to the music that floated dully in the background of this place. He could tell by her look that she didn't approve of his music selection.

Him, the one who was clearly and very quickly dimming her buzz.

Ignoring him completely she grabbed the paper bag by its handles and throwing a selection of notes onto the countertop she stalked away not even faltering on her heels, and certainly not waiting for her change.

The bell on his door echoed long after she had left.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up... but I am hearing good things… so I guess I better get moving so that they are back in time for season 9!!) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and also contains a mention of 'Invisible Evidence'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!! _

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

_And I am sorry for the delay on this – I've been away for a few days turning into England's very first lobster lady…must buy more sun cream… and my best friend and her husband have just welcomed a new baby boy so I have been caught up in sighing adoringly!!_

Stars in Motion.

Rianne

_Chapter Five._

"So come on then," Greg's voice cut through their unnecessarily cautious consideration. "What _would_ be the very worst thing you would do for a million dollars?"

Grissom saw that question as his very definite sign to escape to the bar, not that there weren't many things he would do for that much… many of them probably more revealing than he'd like to share, but his whisky glass was now decidedly empty.

Easing out, past Jim and Al, he waved his glass in the air.

"Any requests?"

Requests duly noted he moved fluidly across the room, realising only once he had taken his first few steps that his feet seemed buoyed by the effects of the alcohol that flowed through his system. Warm and pleasant and it allowed him to ignore what he thought he heard said about killing baby animals for monetary gain.

Reaching the bar he leaned his elbows against the cool marbled surface, feeling the cold seep into his skin where he had turned up his shirtsleeves in a roll.

"So what do they call you?"

The voice came seemingly out of nowhere, and he turned dazedly towards the sound.

What did they call him? What kind of question was that?

He found a woman standing beside him, a woman with large green eyes and a mane of fluffy auburn hair. She was wearing a dark dress suit, high heels, a professional woman through and through.

A younger woman, no more than thirty-eight maybe.

Fleetingly he was tempted to answer her odd question by telling her that some people called him 'The Bug Man' when they thought he couldn't hear them. He grinned to himself, in a way that could have been interpreted as slightly silly, possibly a little intoxicated, as he laughed inwardly. But something in the woman's tone told him that wasn't the kind of answer she wanted, or expected.

"Come on," the woman coaxed, mistaking his amusement for bashfulness, her voice was sultry and low, "your friends must call you something," she tried again, waving lightly in the direction of the others around the table.

What was his name… for a moment he almost said Grissom. It was so ingrained with him now.

"Gil," he finally said softly, before he was hit with a sudden awareness that the woman beside him was fluttering her eyelashes at him. The motion was not quite in the way of Callie, Greg's naughty waitress friend, this woman had slightly more subtly about her. No, it was more like the way Catherine managed to magically coax Warrick, Nick and Greg into thinking their doing the scut work had been their idea all along.

And her hand, it had come to lie next to his on the surface of the bar, small compared to his, with shiny nails.

Wait a minute… was this woman… was she flirting… with him?

"Rebecca," came the slightly purred response, as the hand beside his was lifted and offered.

No, not when this bar was slowly filling with many nice, young looking men in suits, she wasn't flirting... with him? This had to be a joke right, had the others set this up?

He suddenly had a very deep sinking feeling... this wasn't that stripper that Nick had mentioned was it?

Looking from side to side he suddenly felt extremely self-conscious and wholly unprepared as to what to do about this situation he had found himself in. His shoulders instinctively hunched revealing his discomfort and betraying his awkwardness, but his manners caught him and he managed to shake the hand extended, dropping it quickly as if its softness burned. His cheeks felt like they did. He felt like his embarrassment ebbed off him in waves.

Yet this woman seemed not to notice, or didn't let on if she did. Still she looked at him expectantly, wanting what?

For him to offer her a drink?

Yet she was too pretty to be stripper. He considered her carefully, she wore only a light coating of make up, and although not a slight on her, she was probably a little too old to be a stripper here in Vegas where younger was definitely considered to be beautiful.

No, otherworldly as it seemed and it did. This woman seemed genuinely interested in talking to him.

What was it with people zeroing in on him today? He left other people well alone, unless they did something wrong or died and his investigative talents were needed. Why was he suddenly such an interest to everyone?

Maybe because you haven't emerged from you self imposed little cave for so long, a little voice in his head provoked him.

All he wanted to do was to have a drink with the guys, to go home to his apartment, to take a shower and then fall asleep for a few hours maybe with just a few thoughts of a certain special brunette thrown in there for good measure. It was supposed to be so simple.

Things like this didn't happen to him!

Well not anymore. He could still remember a time when he had been good at this, when flirting and dating, or at least bluffing his way through it, had come much easier than this. Had it really been that long ago? Had he really become so accustomed to the quiet? No wonder Sara's occasional somewhat flirtatious comments so easily floored him! Was he really so out of practise?

He was. And he'd been only too happy to be! He'd been captivated by the only woman who had truly interested him, the only one he couldn't have…. He hadn't needed to look elsewhere. Not with any real interest anyway. It felt wrong in his gut to pursue anyone else. He knew that from experience, he'd tried to date since he met Sara, but failed miserably. It was easy to fail when you heart wasn't really in it, easy to let your work be more important.

So he hadn't needed the skills, well unless he had been desperately fighting with a certain feisty brunette to convince her to stay in Vegas against the superpowers of her flighty tendencies, especially after he had upset her for the…'how many'ieth time… and she had suddenly and unsurprisingly acquired the urge to flee.

She had accused him of not respecting her. Which, when read into, meant she thought he didn't care, didn't notice her, didn't pay enough attention, couldn't read her. None of which had been true. He had been desperately, painfully, forcing her from his mind, fighting to keep his concentration on his work, as she had danced through his every waking moment and many of his dreaming too.

But now things were changing. They were taking it slowly, but they were taking steps.

Maybe he needed to drag out the old Gil Grissom charm and give it a good spit and polish.

Trust it to be now though, now when things were just starting to go in the right direction with Sara, that he would find himself in a compromising situation like this! A situation which a few years back he might have found fleetingly tempting, or at least a huge ego boost. Now it was quiet simply the last place he wanted to be! Thank goodness it was an only guys night! He didn't dare to glance back towards the table to confirm whether or not he had an audience. What would he have done if she had been here to witness this?

For a flickering moment he saw her before him, his imagination conjuring up the perfect Sara Sidle smirk as she watched him flounder, but even in his imagination beyond the humour there was a smart of hurt in her dark eyes. He had seen that look many times before, and never had he really allowed himself to fully comprehend what it meant.

Glancing back at his table he flicked his eyes too quickly to get a clear picture, please don't let them have noticed, he thought. What would he have to do to keep the guys quiet when they decided to spill all next time they needed something, or wanted a better assignment, or were just hanging out in the break room?

And even worse… he had no idea what to say to this woman beside him, especially as… oh God…she was leaning even closer.

As if his lucky stars were watching out for him Callie suddenly appeared before him, cutting across from the other side of the bar just in time to offer to take his order, and noticing the slightly pained, widened eyes he gave her she calmly took note of the drinks and sweetly told him she would bring them over to the table and add them to his tab.

Licking his bottom lip in something akin to mild relief he thanked her, and with a tilt of his head in the direction of the still unwaveringly interested auburn haired woman he smiled again, "And whatever the lady is having." He added chivalrously, avoiding looking either woman in the eye.

Hey, why not. She was pretty, and although he certainly wasn't interested, there was no need to be rude.

Rebecca smiled graciously; turning to give her order and allowing Gil to take a step back from her without being noticed.

See. He could still be charming. Gilbert Grissom could fake it like the best of them.

"But if you'll excuse me Rebecca, I have to get back to my friends."

The woman smiled and nodded lifting her hands in acceptance of defeat.

He extended his hand calmly to hers again, and with another smile, one that was polite with his respectful refusal, he excused himself and began to scuttle back to the others.

He was surprised when she called after him, "She must be very beautiful."

He paused turning back, unsure as to if he had heard her correctly or had even been supposed to catch her words; coming face to face with her again he saw that she did indeed address him, but before he could baulk at this woman's somewhat inflated sense of self worth he found himself unable to deny the truth of her observation and could not seem to stop himself from nodding in agreement, a smile breaking.

"She is." His voice was quiet and his smile grew.

"Thank you," Rebecca lifted the glass Callie had just slipped to her. He could have been mistaken, but she seemed somewhat relieved. It appeared that she felt better in the knowledge that there was at least a chance that he hadn't responded to her advances as there was someone else in the picture.

Rebecca released him at that, she could feel better about embarrassing herself with him if that was the case, even if he was lying to ease his rejection, but something in the sweetness of his expression rang true.

Gil nodded again, lifting his hands dashingly, before he turned and continued back to the table.

What awaited him when he got there was just what he did not need. Five faces all waited expectantly, eyebrows raised and grins on high wattage.

"What?"

_**0000000000**_

She angled her car into the space, straightening the wheels before cutting the engine with a twist of her wrist.

Sliding out of the car Sara felt the hot air enveloped her like a hug and the fresher air whisked the butterflies in her stomach into a tingling frenzy.

The warm breeze from the elevation of the open-air car park fluttered her hair against her cheeks like wings.

This was stupid. She knew that.

Yet she couldn't help but feel both nervous and excited, it was that twisting kind of nervous, where you really could not be sure that the person you so desperately wanted to be there would come, yet you also were kind of desperate for them not to come as you knew as soon as you saw them your heart would leap, your stomach would drop and breathing and speech would become like forgotten foreign tools.

This was stupid. She was behaving like she was still back at college.

She shut the door forcefully, stamping down the quivering in her hands, by flexing her fingers into fists.

In an uncharacteristic moment of vanity she cased herself in the reflection in the car window.

Just what would he see…?

No! It wasn't supposed to be about that. It was about Warrick and his wedding and his happiness.

God, when was the last time she had actively worried about her outfit!

It couldn't be obvious. She didn't want anyone suspecting that she was dressing for someone in particular. It had to be close enough to what she usually wore but slightly nicer of course, she had to look like she had made some kind of effort here!

Rolling her eyes at her stupid reflection she jammed her sunglasses into place.

Enough! She thought to herself, which was quickly followed by the thought that thank goodness she wasn't Catherine and she didn't have to worry about this kind of appearance based crap daily!

Not that she could ever pull off wearing anything from Catherine's seemingly endless wardrobe… not unless she was undercover or something. Catherine somehow managed to pull off almost all of her outfits with sexy style, but her past had given her a confidence in her body which Sara could never even hope to aspire too, what with her height and her lines and barely there curves.

Many women went with the idea that you flaunted what you had, but she had never wanted that. She knew that in many ways she craved attention, '_I look for validation in inappropriate places_' she heard her own slightly shaky voice intone, but she had never used her body to get that, she wasn't about to flaunt herself for it, she'd worked to hard for her academic praise and work achievements, she wasn't about to sacrifice her pride by flashing skin. That wasn't the type of attention she was looking for anyway, any man who responded to that kind of invite wasn't even close to what she wanted from a partner.

He had to have an interest in her mind as well as her body. She wanted a partner who was interested in her as a whole being.

Who was she kidding... 'partner'... she wanted Grissom!

But she didn't want to be too forward, too obvious. He wasn't showing any signs of fleeing just yet, but with their history in mind she really felt no great need to tempt the fates.

No her outfit was fine, it balanced, it captured what she was looking for…okay there was a hint of cleavage, and her neck and shoulders were bared by the thin straps but she wasn't a saint after all!

She wanted his attention yes, but briefly; being the direct focus of his attention always flustered her. He certainly didn't do anything by halves once his attention was piqued and that thought alone in light of recent developments made the butterflies in her belly intensify their heated dance.

Being Grissom's focus… it was dangerous, thrilling.

A memory swept through her. The remembrance of being trapped against the wall by him at her own insistence… it had been a scenario of sensations she had been unable to forget. It danced through her dreams and had quite simply driven her crazy…

She hadn't really fully comprehended the consequences of what she had requested when she had asked him to pin her down. I was a moment she looked back on with both a blush of desire, and an overwhelming cringe of embarrassment.

It had been early morning, she had been up all-night and so had he, they had been working long hours under serious pressure to be ready for Warrick to present the evidence in court, they could be forgiven for being tired and vulnerable and distracted.

Hey, if she had wanted to get his attention she certainly had!

She had been excitedly demonstrating the way in which the killer had restrained the woman, and they'd mimicked it, him pinning her arms as she had struggled, it was only when she had talked of surrendering, had let herself relax, had stopped fighting against the size and weight and pressure of his warm hands around her wrists, the strength in his arms, that the moment had burned through to her. Her body had woken up, unused to his touch, especially below the edge of the latex gloves where bare skin met bare skin and the heat intensified. She had suddenly realised that they were millimetres apart and she was looking into his eyes. She had never had the opportunity to be in such close contact with him before.

She had felt the moment slow down, had heard her own voice slow as she had continued to speak out her scenario, almost gasping in relief when he had removed the strength of his grip from her wrists leaving a ghostly remembrance of his hold on her skin.

But then he had leaned closer, angling his body nearer to hers, and she had let her gaze follow the path of his hands as they had moved slowly down to either side of her waist, gliding dangerously close to the curve of her breast, the sensitive skin of her bare inner arm drafted by the breeze of the motion. And the heat… it had poured from him; it beat out and mixed with the heat she knew must be flooding from her.

Drawn back to his eyes her, heart wild in her chest, she had instinctively frozen as a sweep of recognition had flooded her. Suddenly she had been reminded that she was standing against the sheet where a young woman had been brutally assaulted and murdered.

For a moment it had floored her. The heat and adrenaline and arousal in her body had easily translated the moment into one of erotic sensation. Here where she acted out the motions with a man she knew, she trusted, she desired. He took the place of her attacker, but she knew she was in no harm; she was safe in the knowledge that he would never physically hurt her or anyone in this way.

Blinking helplessly in his arms as the uncomfortable truth flashed helplessly in front of her eyes she had realised that she was taking pleasure in re-enacting this woman's death, what was wrong with her?

Her body had taken on a mind of its own, coming alive at his nearness without her permission.

The intensity in his eyes only made it worse. The barely readable expression in the depths, was it interest, desire, arousal or just plain intrigue for the case? Whatever it was this 'real' Gil Grissom frightened her, for all her glib flirty comments, whispered from a comfortable distance, about the mile high club and taping her up, she'd only said them to tease… hadn't she? She hadn't really expected anything to happen? Brave in the knowledge that they certainly wouldn't be acted on at work.

And then she had started to babble, desperately, uncontrollably, an outward expression of her own guilt and unease and confusion, and she had slipped away, sliding quickly past him back to her safer distance.

She had been a babbling mass of uncertainty, always was around him, but that day had been the worst. And she couldn't even be sure he had realised why, even after all her rambling about what had or hadn't happened between them.

Always over-talking, would she ever grow out of that?

It was getting easier though, now that she knew what he wanted, but it was still there, and so was she, standing by her car trying to put off meeting the others and being tingling-terrified, or heartbreakingly disappointed all over again.

She locked the car with a muted bleep and headed for the exit.

Come what may…

_**0000000000**_

"So what was the worst thing?" Grissom asked to blank response.

"The worst thing for a million…?" he tried again sliding back into the booth. "You know… Greg's intellectual challenge?" He teased in a vain attempt to throw the conversation limelight away from himself.

Apart from Greg's slightly delayed protest of "Hey!" no one took the bait.

"So…" Nick began his face almost vanishing behind the white of his grin. "Who's your new friend, Gris?"

"Been dishing out the old Grissom charm?" Warrick played along.

"Less of the '_old_'?" Gil growled at him, his eyebrows rising dangerously, before he relaxed and smiled.

They still all looked on, even Al and Jim who he had hoped would come to his aid. They had better just wait until the next time they needed a favour or back up from him.

Realising that there was no way out, and also nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about, Gil just admitted all he knew.

"Her name was Rebecca, and she is _not_ my friend." He stated the truth calmly with a tilt of his head, but no one seemed to be accepting that.

"She's hot!" Greg shot in, "well for an older woman." He continued watching Grissom's eyebrows rise as the youngest CSI firmly accomplished the nearly impossible task of placing both feet in his mouth, even if metaphorically.

"You let a guy get a little," Warrick smirked at Greg reaching out to cuff his head but his waft was dodged, "look what happens! I think it's time this man worked some heavy duty overtime again." He looked to Grissom with his recommendation. "What happened to our work obsessed little lab tech?"

Everyone laughed, turning as Callie appeared with their refills and the question was rendered rhetorical by her broad teasing smile.

"So, Rebecca…" Jim cut in, refusing to let it drop, "she seemed like a nice _young_ lady?"

The drinks were being passed round, Callie took back her tray and slipped away and still everyone was looking at him.

He glared at Jim, but even his caustic look didn't seem good enough to silence his supposedly long time friend as Jim opened his mouth to say more. Yet before he could speak another voice broke in.

"Room for one more?"

A soft, gently husky, female voice.

Heads snapped round, Gil's quickest of all. Finally dragging the attention away from the man in the hot seat.

"Sara!?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up... but I am hearing good things… so I guess I better get moving so that they are back in time for season 9!!) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and also contains a small mentions of events from 'And Then There Were None' and 'Scuba Doobie Doo'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!! _

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

**Stars In Motion.**

**By Rianne.**

_Chapter Six._

He was there.

Everything stopped at that knowledge. If it hadn't been for the pound of her heart or the rush of her own blood in her ears to remind her she was alive and still standing upright she'd have felt like the floor fell out beneath her.

Her stomach and its butterflies dropped several dizzying storeys inside. Who needs roller coasters when you can just date?!

What was going on with her today? She was thirty-three not fifteen for goodness sake!!

But he was there, just like Nick had promised he'd be.

Damn, that was another bet she'd be loosing to Nick Stokes… although it was the kind of bet she didn't mind loosing…

He was there.

She had seen him first, her eyes latching on instinctively to his silvery hair, his familiarity drawing her to him across the room. He had been standing, just about to slide into the booth, when she had turned the corner.

Her footfalls had slowed to a stop. She'd followed the motion of his decent to the chair with her eyes. She'd hovered, observing him from afar for a moment. Uncertain.

Her heartbeat had picked up, her mind had fogged a little, the room becoming a blur except for her one point of crystal clear focus, as her brain seemed about to zone completely out; her palms gripping the pale blue denim of her jeans at her hips, distractedly, flexing nervously.

None of them had noticed her yet. She could still make a run for it. Still turn and flee back to the safety of her quiet and her books and her snack food.

But the expressions on their faces showed that they were laughing, the pleasant noise and its accompanying words lost in the flow of the music and conversation that ebbed around the bar. Lost behind the internal echo of her heart pounding in her ears.

They looked happy, like they were having fun.

He was there.

Looking more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time, blue shirt rolled to his elbows, eyes crinkled in a pouting grin as the others teased him about something.

A waitress stepped up to the table with drinks, and then slipped away again, smiling curiously at Sara as she passed.

"Are you looking for someone?"

It took her a moment before she realised that the blonde waitress had spoken.

"Oh," she stuttered dazedly, "no, I see my friends," she smiled in thanks and made a move to step forward in the direction of their table, embarrassed at being caught lingering.

What was wrong with her?

A few weeks ago she would have thought nothing of this evening. Her hopes had been so dashed with Grissom, she probably would have been the first person there, on her third, maybe fourth beer by now, not hovering behind a plant on the other side of the bar. She would have marched right on over there, one of the guys and plonked herself down, but she didn't want to be constantly thought of as one of the boys.

All this treating her like one of the guys was great when it came to work, that was until they forgot that she was a female, and became a harsh slap in the face when Catherine said things like "Since when do you care about your appearance?"

That one had stung even after she had tried to ease it a little by adding something about her only not caring what she looked like at a crime scene. Which did nothing but add sparks to the already widespread fire. Okay, that day Catherine had been bitchy as hell, and she had already had to buy her food in an effort to stop her talking for one damn minute, but Catherine had definitely been holding nothing back that day.

Catherine had been acerbically, viciously, speaking her mind and no one was getting off lightly… she was so self involved in her own little rant that she didn't even think about what she was speaking out loud, maybe she had realised that Sara had tuned her out around hour two of their four hour wait and therefore she didn't need to stop to consider that she might actually be offended by her words and her flying insults, but that was making excuses, Catherine rarely held anything back.

That was obviously the way Catherine saw her… and if that was the way that she saw her… the only other real female in her regular acquaintance…

She'd gone home that morning and found herself studying her reflection in the mirror, Catherine's comment still stingingly fresh. There had been nothing wrong with her outfit, or her hair, or what little makeup she had been wearing that shift. Which had only helped to make her angrier, she was working for God's sake, not going on a night out, or fashion shoot. Why would she stop processing a crime scene where some poor soul had been murdered to consider her appearance! What kind of person did a thing like that?! And then she had been angry with herself for allowing Catherine to make her angry, to make her doubt herself. She'd never had a real apology either…

Another round of laughter waved over the table and she finally saw her moment to move closer. As she approached them she only had to wait seconds for a break in the conversation, and she barely recognised her own voice as she forced out, "Room for one more?"

In her own ears she sounded nervously husky, she hated it when she sounded like that, but she did sound calmer than she had expected, and totally the opposite of the way she felt inside.

If it hadn't been for the way Grissom momentarily froze at her voice she would have laughed at the speed in which everyone flicked towards her. But she was so focused on him, so very aware of his every movement, and desperate to know if it was a good and terrifying freeze like the one she had just experienced upon seeing him there or if it was a freeze of anxiety.

Had he even known she was coming?

No one knew that they were dating. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone and she somehow doubted he had been running about the Lab telling anyone either. She liked it that way; it was their own personal, pleasurable, naughty little secret. But it did change things. Things she hadn't been fully aware of until right now.

Oh, what if it would be even harder now for them to be in the same room together and not let the others see the interaction between them, to not be able to hold back, or hide the very personal, definitely unmistakable expressions she had seen flicker over his face several times since he had kissed her. Especially now that they were in a social situation, without the rules and boundaries of the Lab and work and aided by what looked like whisky in his glass.

It was one thing to begin to relax when it was just the two of them, and that had been hard enough for them. It was one thing to feel the awkwardness and the nervousness ease slowly into something more comfortable, but to try and do that surrounded by others…

Thank goodness she was driving. Not that she was tempted to drink to ease her problems anymore. That wasn't her problem that had been discussed before, but abstaining tonight would help her to avoid what she guessed would be looks of concern from Grissom, even if a few slugs of her favourite beer would have calmed her nerves no end by now. Yet she had in the past tried to keep up with the guys, Nick and Warrick, two men pretty close to twice her size, and she'd done pretty well. No one drank like a Sidle it seemed. In the worst way she was her father's daughter in that sense.

But that was all past.

Tonight was about pleasant feelings.

Tonight was about the reaffirmation of the team, about happier times to come, about celebration.

"Sara?!"

Grissom's voice.

He was speaking her name and before she could respond the other's voices were crashing over his and over one another's in a crazy ramble of words which made the laughter finally break out of her, escaping vibrantly from her lips as it bubbled up from her chest. She gave into it gratefully, finally feeling some of the tension break and relieve a little.

She rocked back on her heels, feeling overwhelmed, lifting her hands in the air, her shoulders quivering with the rippling amusement.

"Look at _You_!!" Nick cried grinning, standing and leaning over the small table to drag her into a hug.

Warrick laughed, "Nice," he commented with a cool nod, waiting until Nick released her before embracing her himself, kissing her cheek.

Greg beside him slipped two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, before Nick cuffed him across the head again.

Blushing Sara took a step back from them, untangling herself and raising her palms unconsciously again and glancing towards Jim as she laughingly asked how much 'those three' had been drinking.

"Wait… wait, wait, wait." Greg chanted. Suddenly standing, raising his hands in argument. "Sara's a girl…" He shrank back off Sara's look, "Sorry… 'Woman'… There's '_A Woman_' at our bachelor party?"

"Well technically, traditionally," Jim commented trying to keep his tone mild, but it still managed to slip an octave or two in defiance of his wishes, "there are _usually_ women at a bachelor party." He tilted his head knowingly.

Warrick laughed.

Nick was nodding, "They usually wear a little less than our Sara here," he looked her up and down in a way that made her open her mouth in surprised indignation. "Although today…"

He never got the chance to finish his comment as Sara jokingly lunged for him, pulling back at the last second, a huge grin on her face.

"Nicky…" she shook her head at him pretending to be oh so displeased.

She couldn't look at Grissom.

What was she doing?! She was standing there letting the others fluster her and make her blush, tease her, whistle at her for God's sakes and she couldn't even bring herself to look in his direction.

_Because you only really care what he thinks_, that little know-it-all voice in her head spoke up.

She had felt his eyes on her since he had spoken her name, his unwavering gaze had been heating her cheeks even more brightly than the boys cocky flirting, but since uttering her name in surprise he had said nothing.

They hadn't told him she was coming.

Well, she hadn't even been sure she was going to go.

"Sara, why don't you slide in here," Al suggested, as he stood, and Jim too finished his drink with a final slug and rose.

_Here being next to Grissom_, her know-it-all mind squealed.

"Some of us have places to be in a few hours," Jim growled, already dreading waking up for his shift. "Gotta get some sleep before the Vegas crowd wakes up again and comes tumbling out of the casinos and making my night."

"Best of luck to you Warrick," Al said vigorously shaking his hand again.

Sara stepped back to let them past, wishing them both a goodnight, her voice intermingling with the others goodbye greetings. Then she slowly slid in next to Grissom.

Lowering herself to the soft pink plush very carefully.

Her whole body felt like it was on high alert. She could practically see every rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took just out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the warmth of his arm as it almost brushed hers, shoulder to shoulder. She crossed her legs reflexively, for something to do, unconsciously angling them in his direction. Body language, damn it! But it was too late to move back now.

Oh God! He was moving closer.

She kept her eyes forward. Feeling her cheeks flush again. The guys in front of her were totally engrossed and obliviously involved in some conversation, she could barely concentrate on their words, something about strippers… oh dear…

But Grissom was even closer now; she could feel his warm breath moving her hair. He wasn't touching her but she could almost feel him everywhere.

He was leaning in, tilting his head…

Her breath caught.

His lips were a hairsbreadth from her earlobe, his hot breath moistening the skin.

It felt like forever before he finally spoke.

"Sara…" Just her name and she was already biting her lip, this was bordering on pathetic, she really had to stop reading romance novels they were warping her mind. "Ignore them," she heard his words curve into the smile across his lips. His voice was barely a whisper, soft and shy. Her eyelids drifted closed. "You look amazing…"

"What are you drinking Sar?"

She practically leapt from the seat.

Greg.

She could have thumped him. Beaten him to a pulp, ground his remains, she was a damn good CSI no one would ever find him.

Her heart was thundering. This was how she was going to die. Her heart was going to give out from too much whispering from Gil Grissom and interruptions from idiots like Greg Sanders.

_**0000000000**_

"Sara!?"

Oh God! Sara! Sara's voice! He'd said Sara's name out loud too!

She was here! What was she doing here?

What was she doing here looking like that?! She looked… she looked…

He breathed out heavily, taking a deep return breath before he felt that new air choke.

Oh God! What if she had heard? What if she had heard the guys teasing him?

Oh God! What if she had seen? What if she had seen Rebecca leaning over and fawning all over him like some cheerleader?

He could feel his heart pick up.

'What's your pulse at now?'

Sara's soft fingers and palm caressing his cheek, catching him completely off guard with her affection, her comfort, melting his anger with an easy gesture.

Oh, there she was again, always finding some way to knock him sideways out of his usual comfortable routine.

She was so good for him!

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The guys were talking now, Nick practically lifting her off her feet as he hugged her.

Yet he wasn't jealous.

He studied her.

She didn't look jealous. She didn't look angry. She didn't look like she had seen Rebecca, or heard any of the comments.

It seemed he was in the clear. He was one very lucky…

She looked nervous, and a little embarrassed, and even somewhat shy.

She was wearing pink. Soft pink. Soft pink silk. A vest top like usual, but completely different to usual.

And jeans, pale blue jeans that stretched out those legs of hers.

High heels, she'd be as tall as him. Nose to nose. Lips to lips.

And curls, her dark hair curved to her face in beautiful natural curls, the ones he loved so much but had seen so little of lately.

He wanted to touch her. His fingers twitched with it. He wanted to touch her so badly.

He wanted to be the one dragging her into a hug like Nick, or embracing her and kissing her cheek like Warrick, but he couldn't. He couldn't even whistle at her like Greg. God that boy really needed to learn how to treat a real woman! Although for some unexplainable reason he seemed to be doing just fine with that waitress, so what did he know!

He just sat there, boxed in by Nick on one side and Al and Jim on the other and just watched her.

She was laughing, lunging at Nick for the down right lascivious way he was looking her up and down and he found himself wishing that she really would swing for the young CSI. Before he did and exposed them both.

She looked happy.

She looked beautiful.

She was dating him!

Jim's movement beside him broke his fixation.

He was standing, finishing his last drink. Al too was moving sideways, sliding out of the booth, shaking hands with Warrick, nudging Sara towards him.

Wait! Nudging Sara towards him.

She didn't look at him. For a moment he panicked. He kept his eyes forward; staring at the empty glass Jim had left on the table.

He heard the guys pick up their conversation again.

Oh God, something about strippers.

She was here. Her soft, sweet perfume wafted over as she very cautiously settled beside him.

Oh God! This was going to be too hard! Too awkward to act natural next to one another and not look like they had a huge secret to share.

She was trying to relax, but he could see her heart beating, making her breasts rise against the silk. Oh God! Don't gaze there!

He looked away from her again, but found his attention drawn helplessly back to her when she moved her legs, crossing them, her left over her right.

Her bare arm almost brushed his. Shoulder to shoulder.

She was nervous, uncomfortable. He had to say something soon or he would explode!

What was it that made him so speechless around her?

_Compliment her you idiot! _That nagging voice from earlier intoned.

The guys, they were teasing her, just tell her she looks nice.

But wait, not too loudly, no need for the others to hear that.

He flicked a glance at the other three guys, and tried desperately to ignore the name Catherine being thrown about in the conversation involving this evening's guest list and strippers all over again. That and the way they were talking to Sara... Come next shift he really had to talk to those three about sexual harassment, although technically they weren't at work…

Sara!

He leant into her, meaning just to move a little closer so he didn't have to speak so loudly, but he couldn't seem to stop. He was drawn in, the alcohol heightening his courage, just the small boost he needed.

His lips were dangerously close to her earlobe, breathing her in, brushing against the small dangling earring hanging there.

She was holding her breath.

"Sara,"

Ha! Was that his voice?!

"Ignore them."

See, he could say nice things; he could give compliments, charm women.

"You look amazing…"

Not stop talking even when he knew he should.

"What are you drinking Sar?"

Greg Sanders. Violence. Greg Sanders.

And suddenly she was gone. Leaping away from him as if his touch burnt.

Greg Sanders.

Greg Sanders on decomp duty for the rest of his career.

Greg Sanders buried where no one else would ever find him…


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up... but I am hearing good things… so I guess I better get moving so that they are back in time for season 9!!) Until then they are mine to play with as I like… _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and contains mentions of events from 'Grave Danger' and 'The Accused is Entitled.'_

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!! _

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne

_Chapter Seven_

Considering how much Sara Sidle wanted to kill Greg Sanders she still leaned heavily on his arm, linked it with hers, as she staggered blindly across the room to the bar.

Her thoughts though, those were still back curled warm against the pink booth entangled with flowers and engaged in intimate conversation with Gil Grissom.

She blinked hard. Huffed out a breath.

Focus. Peppermill. Walking to the bar.

What had he been thinking?! What had she been thinking?!

Her… the sober one.

One scattering of words uttered on the breeze of hot male breath and she was so distracted she was dizzy.

If it hadn't been for Greg's surprisingly solid arm she would have most likely stumbled to the ground taking many bar stools, tables of brightly coloured drinks and even people with her.

Dizzy… in more ways than one.

Or was it closer to giddy? Exhilaration at almost being caught harbouring the most delightfully naughty secret of her life?

Straight line Sidle. Breathe. One foot in front of the other, you've been doing it for at least thirty-two years!

Please don't fall… whose damn stupid idea was it to wear heels?

Damn these stupid uncoordinated, gangly, sorry excuses for legs.

Slow motion depictions of her swooning to the floor, or more likely stumbling… and falling flat on her face, danced before her eyes. She was a heartbeat from physically realising them and it would not be the first time. Mortifying herself seemed to happen on a fairly regular basis where she was concerned. Especially in his presence.

Got to focus! Where were her brains tonight!

She reflexively sank her fingers deeper into Greg's arm, feeling him flinch despite his best efforts not too, she sensed him move as he whipped his head towards her a 'what the…?' expression plastered across his face.

But Greg wasn't the only one watching her.

She could still feel his gaze fixed on her back. The unfaltering gaze of Gil Grissom, fixated. Just the knowledge of it made her knees frustratingly, girlishly weak.

Reaching the bar felt like the end of a marathon obstacle course. Her heart was still racing like she had exerted herself to strive for the finish line. She felt a sweet but fleeting wave of calm sweep her as she released her death grip on Greg and found support from the cool marble counter top instead.

What had he been thinking?! Why hadn't she been able to think!?

Had the others noticed?

Maybe not the actual interaction between her and Grissom, they had seemed quite involved in their conversation, but her reaction to Greg's interruption certainly hadn't been a subtle one.

Way to go Sidle.

She still hadn't been able to look Greg in the eye, avoiding all intellectual contact. Oh God what if he had seen what had been taking place between her and their boss?

And she still hadn't answered the fateful question, the one that had interrupted whispered caresses into her ear.

What did she want to drink… she couldn't think.

Cold. Something cold to soothe the wave of heat that lingered.

Her belly still fluttered like the butterflies were having a ball… the way his mouth had curved against her ear as he had murmured her name.

She'd leapt up like she had been guilty…

Like being with Grissom, like caring about him, dating him, kissing him, was some how wrong…

Instead of how she really felt. Thrilled, terrified, tingly with what could only be described as want.

Oh…

She leant heavier on the bar, closing her eyes a second.

The countdown was already on. She would have to return to the table within a matter of minutes.

Back to Grissom, possibly wounded Grissom, slightly intoxicated Grissom, not quite in control of his actions Grissom… back to sheer torture.

Why did she feel like she would be returning to the scene of some crime?

Back to the possibility of hurt feelings… she'd leapt away like his words had burnt her when they really had… they had… she couldn't even begin to answer that!

She straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders, feeling the tension across them ripple like overhead thunder.

This was supposed to be a relaxing evening! Fun with her friends…

Eventually she would be able to laugh about this… she could only hope that they both would.

She breathed out to calm herself. Relaxed a little. Allowed herself a minute to just think about what had happened in the moments before.

He'd never said _anything _even remotely like that to her before.

To think she had once been so flustered when he had told her she looked 'nice'.

Nice, such a dull, flat, noncommittal kind of word.

And then to bruise her even more, in typical Grissom style, he had followed his sweet blow of out of character personal remarking by slamming her hard with the mention of… by bringing up… bringing up _he_ who shall not be named and ruin her already teetering evening.

To think she had dwelled for hours on that one, almost insulting, word. Actually considered wearing her 'court suit' every single day to work!

'_Amazing'…_

Just the way he had said it made her want to close her eyes and savour it.

No one had ever told her she looked that.

She hadn't known such a word occurred to him when he was describing anything beyond the realm of science.

He thought she looked amazing, she allowed the memory of his voice to buoy her mood, boost her fragile ego. It was good, felt so good, and it was such unbelievable, slightly overwhelming, progress between them. Better than she could have dreamed just a few weeks ago. But she wasn't dreaming, he'd said it, really said it, even if it had taken several drinks for the words to pass his lips.

Warm, soft lips… which had finally touched hers.

Not helping!

But she had leapt away from him. And to make matters worse, she hadn't even said a word to him. Not even hello.

Her teeth took up her lower lip and began to worry.

It had all happened so quickly, the others had all been speaking and whistling and hugging her.

She hadn't even managed to look directly at him! She'd yet to actually look him in the eye. She'd been too afraid.

Oh God… her stomach literally quivered when she thought of how 'amazing' might translate in the way he gazed at her.

But how could she be so… so… ignorant, rude, insensitive. He was probably thinking he had upset her again, in one of his usual ways where he tended to be totally unaware of his faux pas, or confused by it all.

Guilt vied with the butterflies for room.

How could she have tempt the fates so, it would be simplicity itself to blow this and that was the last thing she wanted.

She'd practically fled.

Typical Sara Sidle. Panic caused fight or flight… usually flight… flight was easier. Emotional damage she shouldered with practised ease.

Her head was beginning to hurt. They really weren't ready for this. This exposure. It was too soon, what they had was too fragile…

There was a frantic movement before her eyes and she had to blink rapidly to focus.

Greg.

He had turned towards her, waving his palm directly in front of her face. Oh God he had been talking and she'd totally zoned out and missed it this time.

Her mouth opened in embarrassed apology, before she realised that Greg was introducing her, the blonde waitress who had spoken to her earlier was extending a hand to her across the bar, smiling as if she had heard all about her.

Stuttering words of greeting she barely heard and certainly put little thought into, she shook the hand, dragging herself back to the present, surprising herself by managing a sly wink and look of 'congrats!' in Greg's direction as it slowly began to dawn on her.

He'd wanted her to meet his new girlfriend! That was what he'd wanted. Not to drag her away from Grissom, but to show off and introduce her to this woman. He looked so cute. Like a sweet puppy. Lovesick, her little Greggo! So adorable when he was happy.

So wrapped up in his own little world.

Wait… Did this mean she was in the clear?

That her secret was safe?

That there weren't going to be any Grissom based questions?

That chivalrous Knight Greg didn't think he had just rescued her from the clutching embarrassment of being mauled by their boss?

She only just managed to control the relief of bubbling laughter that surged from her, just managed to adapt it to calmer amusement at something banal that Greg was saying.

Then they were turning back, back to the table.

_**0000000000**_

Grissom had watched her from the moment she had sprung away from him.

Watched her every move, the way she wobbled slightly in her heels, the way those shoes did… things… to those legs of hers whilst he tried desperately not to be jealous at the friendly, easy way she slung her arm through Greg's.

With Nick and Warrick still involved in their evenings planning, blissfully unaware of the turmoil rumbling between their friends, he had been left alone to watch and wonder… and smile.

He couldn't help it. To know that he had such an effect on her!

Flushed cheeks, wide eyes, flustered Sara Sidle was a sight to behold.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, his attention sweeping the lines and curves of her body as she leaned against the bar as he had only a short time ago. She was wearing that same shade of dusky pink she had worn, both in fabric and blush, the day that she had first come to Vegas.

Another new beginning. Another second chance.

Luck did not even begin to cover it. But it would not be easy.

He, no they, couldn't blow this.

For a brief moment he had wondered if he should have been upset that she had sprung from his grasp like that, or even worry that he had upset her, again, but his uncertainty had been fleeting.

The breeze from her motion had been the tiny wave of cool which had reminded him of what he was doing, of who was there to witness his little slips in control… some of the best trained minds in the country, minds he tutored, and that thought helped him restore a little of his awareness.

He was happy with their little secret and it was nice to know that she was too. Her panic had only crashed when Greg had spoken, not before, not when he had uttered the words he had been trying to hold back, afraid of… what was he afraid of?

She wasn't embarrassed by him. She was flustered, and shy, and aware of him as a reality now, but she wasn't embarrassed or ashamed of him.

He was learning to read her again, he realised with a tingle of pride. She had always been direct and open with him in some ways, and she did have that wonderfully expressive face, but lately they had drifted apart, a veil of wounded pride hiding her from him, but he was lifting it.

Their relationship was their secret and they both wanted to keep it that way. It was fear of exposure and the fallout that would bring, the pressure, which had made her panic, not him.

He'd promised her they'd work their way through all of this slowly. At their own pace, despite the violent rebellion his body and at least half of his mind had incited at this decision.

Slow and steady wins the race. His alcohol-soothed mind couldn't find a more profound quote at this time, but simplicity fit.

Actually, not that he would ever be thanking Greg Sanders unduly, but his timing had been right on, he could see that now that he had gained a little more clarity, and his anger towards the young CSI was fading.

It had been a relief to have an interruption.

Really he did him a favour. Taking Sara to another place in the room gave him a chance to regroup, consider his actions and what was to come next…

I mean where does a man go from 'amazing' without embarrassing himself and jumping up to stand on a table, telling the world in no uncertain terms that he is crazy about the woman beside him.

The woman who at that very moment turned back to the table and accidentally met his gaze.

And smiled. She was laughing.

That beautiful, nervous, gorgeous smile of hers, the one that made her eyes twinkle, the sparkle intimate, for him, and he realised that he was smiling too. And in that moment half way across the room seemed a million miles away and nothing at all…

_**0000000000**_

"Hey! How come Sidle gets to shake her hand, Greggo? Why does Sara get a proper introduction?" Nick pouted as Greg and Sara returned to the table.

Sara slid in next to Grissom, never breaking this new, breathtaking, powerful eye contact between them. Once she'd looked at him, really looked at him, she couldn't seem to stop, couldn't break away. The corner of her mouth still tilted upwards. There was so much for both of them to read, so much. They conversed silently, reassured implicitly, teased mercilessly, all without a single syllable. The others fading to a quiet hum around them.

It might have seemed silly to an observer, them sat gawping goofily at one another, but in that moment neither cared. They took their chance to just be. To just get comfortable again in this simple way, like they used to be.

Greg dropped next to Warrick with a shrug, not wanting to be forced to admit that even after all that had happened that he still felt closer too Sara than he did with any of the others. Sara wouldn't purposely embarrass him like they would. Sara was the one who had teased him, but always had his back. The one he worked cases with more often than not these days. The one who took the time to praise him and the patience to correct his mistakes with compassion. His friend whose approval, whose advice he sought, whose opinion he trusted.

"Doesn't she realise I'm the hero who survived being buried alive?!"

Nick's words stopped them all dead in their tracks.

Four faces shocked towards him as he sensed his attempt to joke at tragedy explode like the atom bomb right at the epicentre of their table.

Four faces twisted into grimaces of shock.

Four mouths opened and closed like fish as they tried to find the right words to say.

Four pairs of eyes watched those of their friend who they were all still carefully tiptoeing around cloud over at the awkwardness and floundered, and felt horrendous and small and helpless as they fought for a way to break this tension, to help him fight back the obvious memories this painful silence was sure to be evoking.

Nick, their Nick was trying to talk, to get the huge elephant which had hung out in every room with them recently out into the open and there it stood, balanced on the table between them, grey, trunked, and expecting their peanuts and they were coming up short.

What kind of friends were they?!

'_I was joking!_' Nick's own voice was screaming inside his head, but he just couldn't seem to get the words from there out past his lips. '_Come on somebody laugh!_' His mind begged.

But instead his eyes grew wider with the strain. The others were glancing, surreptitiously at one another, trying not to break their view of him at the same time as looking sidelong at each other for reassurance, for someone to step up. Not wanting to let him out of their sight, wondering if he was going to break, cry, scream, disappear, or fracture into a million pieces.

If they treated him like he was a delicate child one more day he would… he would…

"Hey Hey Hey!! Where's the party?"

Catherine.

Catherine Willows. Life saver.

_**0000000000**_

Warrick's mind was shocking violently at the pain of watching Nick struggle, feeling like he was himself drowning as the present interspersed with strobes of memory.

His own hoarse screaming at the monitor, the crashing waves of fear returning in bolts as he couldn't hide from the way his heart had turned to lead and his veins filled with ice as he had watched his best friend pick up his gun and take aim, all whilst trapped inside the box of glass.

The room went dark for a moment as he closed his eyes against it all. Just as Nick's box had gone dark when he had shot out the light.

He'd have never thought of that. He knew as sure as he knew anything these days that he would never have been able to think clearly enough to have done anything remotely smart like that.

Oh no. For Warrick Brown the gun would have been placed firmly against the temple.

He wished that he couldn't believe that he would have been able to do it, but do it he would have. He'd have pulled that trigger.

He never would have made the connection between the air fan and the light. He had been the one pressing the button that activated and reactivated the light for God's sake. Over and over again he had been repeatedly cutting the power to the fan. Repeatedly cutting the oxygen supply to his friend.

He had been unforgivably stupid.

Nick Stokes was a braver man than he would ever be.

It was getting harder to withstand the memories every day it seemed. All the pressure, all the pain and darkness he was desperately pushing to the locked box in his brain so he could slam the door on it secure. He rubbed his head, his fingertips circling his temple unconsciously.

He could only imagine how bad it must be for Nick.

The alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, loosened the words he had been hiding even from himself, hiding from his own mind sounded crazy, but it was true. The alcohol had made him feel vulnerable and weak. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Even Nick didn't want it to be like this. That was as plain as the nose on his face.

Where had his fun mood of just a few moments gone? What had happened to the ridiculous talk of strippers and cocktail drinking races? The alcohol was making the room spin now. He was too drunk for all this seriousness.

God that sounded so unfeeling, what a horrible human being he was for thinking like that. For thinking only of how this affected him, how this made things awkward for him. What a low… low…

Yet Walter Gordon hadn't just hurt Nick. He hadn't meant to just hurt Nick either. All of them had been the targets of his rage. He had been indiscriminate in who he had taken. Any one of them would have done. He had known that hurting one meant hurting them all.

Yet that didn't help him feel any less selfish, or self absorbed.

It felt like he stood on the edge of a minefield, with traps ready to blow at one false step. He needed guidance.

He opened his eyes again and glanced over at Grissom. His mentor, the only man he had looked up to in a long time. Surely he would know what to do. He was supposed to take the lead after all, even if he could be socially awkward to the point of being downright rude sometimes.

Yet when it was called for, when it was necessary Gil Grissom had put himself on the line for Nick like no other man. He had taken the ransom money to Walter Gordon and almost got blown to the sky, he had been the one to pull Nick from the ground when the bomb beneath the glass coffin had been triggered, he had kept Nick calm then… he had…

"Hey Hey Hey!! Where's the party?"

Catherine?

And then he found himself blinking again, finding his attention jerked back to the present again, his focus snatched, his head whipped in the direction of the voice, the woman who stood before them dressed… dressed like that.

Dressed like...

Dressed… in a way that had drawn every male pair of eyes in the room directly to their table like they were hypnotised.

She wasn't supposed to be here, she wasn't supposed to be coming.

And she was looking at them like they were in the middle of an official and sedate court proceeding and she had just turned up topless.

"Oh come on! What's with you all!?" She cried exuberantly, hauling her paper bag onto the table, and slamming it down right over the elephant.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Disclaimer:_**_All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up... but I am hearing good things... so I guess I better get moving so that they are back in time for season 9!!) Until then they are mine to play with as I like... _

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and all italicised speech is directly lifted dialogue from this episode._

_I also **do not** own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge', the 'Circus Circus Casino', the 'Bonanza World's Largest Gift Shop' or the character of 'Hannibal Lecter'._

**_Author Notes_**_: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne

_Chapter Eight._

"Catherine!" Nick leapt up to meet her.

She laughed happily at his exuberance as he embraced her tightly across the table, trapping her curious bag between them as he pressed his face into the soft curls of her hair. He paused a minute and breathed in deeply before pulling back and lowering himself back to his seat smiling broadly and somewhat thankfully at her.

He ignored the others, ignored the way that with his movement they seemed to awaken, and shake themselves back to the present.

For a last lingering moment the air was still palpable with his foolish words.

Catherine remained standing at the entrance to their booth, her expression having now taken on a slightly bemused tone, a window to her mind that was clearly asking if she had broken into something she shouldn't.

Then the awkwardness was passing. The moment was passing.

Nick could sense the minutes ticking onwards, he was also noticing that the others sensed it too, seeing it dawn in their eyes as they sensed opportunity floating away.

Guilt and regret at not managing to talk it all out when they had the chance, was rising to the forefront of each of their consciousness, rising upwards towards the surface. It was written all over their faces.

Guilty expressions the lot of them.

But there was also a sense of relief, Catherine had well and truly shocked them out of the tension that had been syrupy thick in the air around them.

It felt like they had all collectively taken a deep relaxing breath. It felt like the tightness in his chest had given out and was falling happily back into the alcohol warming his belly and taking the bad thoughts with it to be cleansed and removed by the bubbling cauldron that was his nervous insides.

It was to be over, at least for now. He was going to see to that. There would be no mention of it again from him whilst they were in this bar. Or later if he could help it. He had learnt that lesson quickly.

But it saddened him to think that he may need to learn to laugh again. It seemed he had lost his timing. Maybe left it buried six feet under...

He needed to show them that he was all right. Needed them to see it with their own eyes. Realise it. He needed them to relax around him.

He would do anything. Anything!

It was driving him half crazy and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand this constant checking up on him. This constant wave of sideward glances, gauging his mood whenever he so much as stepped into a room. The anxious expressions when he was just a few minutes late for work due to traffic. They even took notice of his demeanour each time he stepped out of the men's room for God's sake. Checking for what? Tears, depression, alcohol use...?

They'd even been avoiding certain words in his presence. Words like death, coffin, buried. The first one of those being somewhat tricky to avoid in their profession.

It felt like they questioned his ability to do this job.

He couldn't have that.

He had nothing else right now. Nothing else but work and family and them and... soul shattering memories.

They behaved a little like he had imagined they would have had he actually died. On edge, jumpy, overly friendly and self-conscious around him.

He knew it was wrong to have fantasized about how they would have reacted, how much they would have missed him. But he had certainly had enough time to imagine what might have happened if the ending hadn't been so positive.

Time, it had been running out for him and yet there had been hours and hours that had seemed like they stretched into infinity, whilst he had been able to do nothing but wait. Agonising hours of alone time, hours of self indulgent, mind playing tricks, narcissism. He had tried to think of anything but the future, dredging his memory for the sweetest remembrances. That was what he had always imagined others meant when they had told him that their lives flashed had before their eyes. Others who had made it through tragedy, just like he had.

But the imagings of the future, of his own end, of the inside of that box being the very last glimpse he would get of this world, they were so overwhelmingly powerful and he'd been so tired and frightened and lost.

All the things he'd never gotten to see, to say, and to experience...

Positive. He had always looked on the positive side. It was instinctive to him, and as such so easy for him to fake right now. It was second nature to curve up the edges of his lips, crinkle his eyes, and make others feel better whilst he slowly died inside.

But inside that buried coffin, positive had been of little use to him. Of little use to anyone. Mind over matter had just become one of those stupid little cliché phrases spat out by therapists in their thousands. Some great big joke in the face of real fear.

Here, safe, above ground, he could entertain himself with distractions; keep himself from remembering.

He had his friends who had visited him in the hospital. Sara who had come to play board games, card games, and her competitive nature had brought out that cute smile of hers, but she had been consciously restrained, something he knew pained her and made her careful behaviours all the more glaring. Warrick had come to watch the sports. Drumming his leg nervously against the bed and shooting him glances between scores. Greg came to loan CD's his visits a blur as the younger CSI's nerves seemed to manifest into him speaking at a million miles an hour, way too quick for a man on such strong medication as he had been on to process, let alone comprehend. And Catherine came to talk office gossip, always holding his hand, which served to only remind him that this wasn't really a social call, even if she did sneak in real coffee.

And Grissom. The man had saved his life. Risked his own for it and he hadn't known how to thank him. Nothing would ever be enough.

Yet it hadn't been necessary. Grissom had avoided all talk beyond the brief 'how are you?' level and had come empty handed, the only person to realise that just his presence was enough; at least he hadn't brought chocolate covered crickets. But under the circumstances, they all owed a lot to those bugs of Grissom's and to Grissom himself for his unique knowledge, they had been pivotal in saving his life. That much Brass had told him during the brief questioning his Doctor had allowed. He had been too far gone to remember anything but ants, stings and dust about the moment he had been broken out of his tomb.

But he wasn't safe from the sharp reoccurrences of terror, the pain and medications had numbed them and held them back for a while, but his mind was sneaky and those memories... they crowded him at his most vulnerable moments.

Even above ground and well on the way to physical recovery he had sat in his hospital bed for many hours alone. After they had stopped giving him medicine to help him sleep, or knock him senseless. After friends and family had been ushered out to let him 'sleep' he had simply lain. The dim lamp by the bed drawing the shadows into light.

It had been moments like that where he hadn't been able to hide from the depths of his mind and the way his brain triggered back flashes at the oddest moments.

The dull whir of the fan slipping on and off, the violent gun blast at such close quarters, the heat, the pound of his adrenaline powered heart, the sharp prickle of insects and their bites.

And the waiting, the wondering how they were ever going to find him alive?

One tiny wrong choice, one tiny miss by any one of them and it could have been all over for him.

He had to be strong. It was just his mind. He was stronger than this. He had to keep fighting. He knew then as he knew now that it wasn't going to be easy.

He'd imagined after he'd gone, imagined them all just sitting listless in the break room staring at the table, at their shoes, at their hands in their laps. He'd imagined that for weeks each one of them would have stopped whenever his name was mentioned, or whenever something reminded them of him, and taken a moment.

He'd pictured them, all of them, his family, his friends, people he hadn't seen in years. Old girlfriends, old school friends, even old family pets. He had pictured them all in their great vital beauty, wondered if he had told them enough just how much he loved them, how much he cared, why he hadn't called them for so long...

It was melodramatic, self-indulgent, he wallowed in his sorrow and still, now above ground, his nerves failed him, he was too shy to tell them how he felt, he had retreated and he had hidden his sorrow and his fears from everyone. Built up a fancy facade of humour and smiles.

But these considerations when he had been deep under the ground and during the long slow constant night they had helped to pass the time.

And in an odd way it was comforting. It made him aware, made him appreciate all the things he had been given in his life and all the things he had wanted which were beyond his reach suddenly faded into insignificance.

He hadn't even cried. He couldn't. That would mean the Gordon's won.

But this awkwardness, this fragile treatment of him, he desperately hoped it would fade with time. It was beginning to drive him completely crazy.

He knew it was hard. It was hard for all of them.

All of them so used to death and forcing the fear and sadness deep and carrying on with the pain so well hidden that they didn't know how to be now, now that he had survived and they were all safe. They didn't know what to do with their feelings; they spent so much time working on not having any.

Longing for human connections, relationships, but afraid that with one false step they would loose it all.

Afraid to love in case they lost.

What kind of life was that for anyone?

He knew they cared though. People who did not care did not work as hard as they had to find him, to get him back alive. They just kept themselves together by showing their emotions through working hard to help one another, or simple things like bringing coffee to one another on a long shift. Yet sometimes it would be nice to share laughter, hugs, just to have fun like this on a more regular basis.

He looked around the table before him. His friends. He owed them his life.

Catherine, clearly drunk, broke the silence with a tumble of laughter as she leant into the huge paper bag she had thrown into the middle of the table.

With a gleam in her eyes that was half manic, half evil she began to draw out an assortment of brightly coloured, horrendously embarrassing, glittery things.

But each the perfect distraction, the perfect thing for distancing...

For forgetting, even just for one night...

Perfect.

**_0000000000_**

"Catherine!"

Even Nick's cry and the way he jumped up from his seat to hug her couldn't ground Warrick Brown.

His head was swimming. The fake dimness and the pink and the alcohol in his system were blurring his vision into the heady, dizzy, painful to blink, world he saw before him.

This wasn't happening. He was way too drunk to handle this. In the last few minutes he had been thrown from happiness, to horror, right down to sheer emotional trauma and confused embarrassment.

He just couldn't handle this.

He paused a moment to try and straighten out his thoughts over the last few minutes...

One minute he had been happily flashing back to his wedding at the laughably tacky Circus Circus, hey, when in Vegas! He'd been remembering the vision that was his new wife before him; dressed in the pretty dress she had worn to their date. His grin had been full, her smile shy and her eyes sparkling in the candlelight as he had calmly and intimately vowed 'I do'. Tina had blushed, smiled just as brightly as he, as she murmured her response, her eyes crinkling beautifully as it dawned on her that they were actually _married_ and that he was advancing on her for the newlywed kiss, sweet, heated and barely restrained in front of the minister.

Then his surprisingly, somewhat embarrassingly soppy reminiscent moment had been broken, as suddenly he had been shocked back to the Peppermill, back to listening to his friend try to joke about what had happened to him...

"Doesn't she realise I'm the hero who survived being buried alive?!"

...and die on his feet.

And then there had been silence. So loud that the rest of the club had faded away and their table had become a lost, deathly quiet island floating out at sea.

He had been unable to hide from the violent images of death they saw every day, what a body smelt like after decomposing under ground for days, even weeks, and the way the dirt had smelt as they had triumphantly dug up Nick and the cold chills of horror at his own weakness, his own suicidal contemplation.

He had looked about him desperately for anyone to help him relieve Nick of his words, but floundered; even Grissom supposed leader had been useless. They had all realised their mortality in that one long night as they had searched. All were still reeling from it and it had rendered them small and frightened, and shown them that they were all staggeringly emotionally inept. Something he guessed that not one amongst them really wanted to be.

And then to compound the juxtaposition Catherine had suddenly appeared. Sharply grounding them. Snapping them back to the present at whiplash speed. Catherine. Blonde, dressed like...that... so different to his wife. So different...

And then as she forcefully avoided meeting his gaze he had been thrown right back in the car park that morning.

He seemed to have no control over his thoughts as they careered round the roller coaster rumbling through his mind, the roller coaster's track had grown slippery with the alcohol flooding his bloodstream. He couldn't stop the hundred mile an hour race again as it threw him right back to the heat of the day and the smell of melting tarmac, which he had desperately hoped would dissolve, or crack and he would fall right into the earth, and disappear, or maybe shrivel under Catherine's confused glare.

He'd been distracted by Michaels, the idiot detective who had not only tampered with the evidence when he had used the rebar which had turned out to be the murder weapon as a crime scene tape stake, but he had also been the one who's uneasy stomach had left Nick alone on the night Walter Gordon had been prowling.

Michaels... The guy was one big cosmic joke. He had even had the nerve to ask how Nick was doing, why he was ignoring his phone calls. Yeah, big mystery there, Pal.

Catherine.

She had been understandably stunned when she first took notice of the gold gleaming on his finger. She'd asked him why he had a ring on his ring finger. Catherine Willows, one time leader of a CSI team, had become the recently crowned queen of rhetorical questions.

He itched it, feeling the warm new metal slide around his finger in a binding loop. It still felt weird for it to be there, to see it there.

Catherine's silence had spoken volumes as Detective Vartann had happily congratulated him, and asked when and where he had married; her silence had been accompanied by that confused glare. It had followed him as he had crouched down next to the Jane Doe in the g-string, rubber boots and Bonanza gift shop bag. It was a relentless stare; one that was punctuated after David had given TOD as being _'not long, under four hours,'_ with:

_'So, about as long as Warrick's been married.'_

The other two men had missed it. Missed the sharpness in her tone. Missed the hurt. David, who had been happily wishing him all the best, had carried on regardless.

Whilst Catherine had finally stopped twitching and drawn herself up, painfully still. Aware that she shouldn't have allowed those words to slip from her mind and escape via her lips.

Awkward. Painfully awkward. What was it about people that they managed to make one another feel this terrible way? He so desperately didn't want to hurt anyone. He wanted all his friends to be happy, to be safe, to be loved.

Yet he had hurt her, and not just because he had kept it a secret. He had known it would hurt her. That was worse. It told him a lot about his relationship with her, things he wasn't sure he should be thinking about.

It had bugged him, guilt had been hounding his brain all day, enough to make him very wary when he had been forced to go and report to her later about his dead-end lines of enquiry down at the local strip clubs.

He couldn't think of a more awkward place for him to have been sent to. He would have gladly traded. A men's prison, a sewer, a storm drain... no not a storm drain, too many memories with that one. But a strip club... not the best of places for him to have been sent today of all days. It was too close, linking bachelors to stag parties to strip clubs to weddings...

He had tried to talk to her, waited for just the right moment to slide it into his 'work related' conversation. Yet she had refused to look at him, barely glancing in his direction. Wearing her glasses to read her computer screen, and his unfamiliarity with them obscuring her face made them into a distancing tool.

It was going to be like this now it seemed. She was going to be the same old Catherine, but things would be different. There was going to be a newly erected barrier between them.

He tried to be cool. He was always so calm about everything. He'd leant against the table top for support, watching as she took off her glasses at the first attempt he made, the first moment he mentioned 'this whole marriage thing' to her.

She had laughed, a strained sound, so unlike the one that had poured to freely from her lips a moment ago when Nick had hugged her.

She'd then forced a smile. A thin one that didn't suit her face. She had uttered some banal pleasantries, how Tina must be very special, how she was looking forward to meeting her, and then in the blink of an eye she was sliding her glasses back into place, blurring him across the table to her as she read out some stats on the Jane Doe, immediately safe back in the land of work and no personal involvement.

Yet he hadn't been able to let it go at that. His damn persistent personality had ended up finding a moment to corner her again later on in the day, asking her to talk to him in that low, almost tender voice he knew she would not be able to refuse.

She'd removed her glasses again, so as to focus clearly on his face, but her arms had crossed protectively across her breasts in a defensive posture.

_'Life is so short, you know. It's almost... it's almost shorter than we ever want to believe.'_

A man of few words, yet he had recently discovered that there was no real point holding back on how you felt.

She had responded with _'Live for the day.'_

She had started up again with the pleasantries, fake and beautiful words but he had seen right through it without even trying.

'_Well, it also feels like you're not so happy for me.'_

He wasn't going to soften any blows, what was the point, he'd tried twice now to shatter this tension, it wasn't going to break and he wasn't going to let it go until she had at least heard him out, understood his impulsive reasoning.

Why he had proposed and then married a woman he had only been seeing for a few months all within the time frame of one night.

Not that he owed her or anyone an explanation.

He wasn't trying to convince himself. He wasn't.

Her coy, flustered and somewhat melancholy response wasn't what he had expected. He had expected her to get mad. To get a little violent, wild. To show off some of that famed Willow's woman temper.

This... this was harder to deal with. This pure and painful honesty.

_'You know the thing about a fantasy is the possibility that it might come true... and when you loose that possibility it just kinda... sucks.'_

No kidding! He'd thought a talk would clear the air between them, but this conversation... a part of him wanted to be outraged and demand to know why she had actually spoken out loud about something that had always been unspoken between them, and another part wanted to drag her to the hospital and force her to meet Tina and see just how special she was, and yet another part wondered if he had done the right thing... after all he hadn't thought too much about it before diving in... and he trusted his friends judgement... and the last part... well the last part had wondered unbidden what it might have been like to be with Catherine Willows.

A dangerous thought.

Oh God, she had told him she couldn't come tonight, so what was she doing here? He would never have allowed so much alcohol to slip past his lips if he had known she might show...

**_0000000000_**

'_Live for the day,' _it certainly looked like Catherine was doing that right now as she was scrambling in the huge brown paper bag she had ceremonially dumped onto the table between them all. She was clearly drunk; babbling happily to herself about it not looking very festive in here considering it was a celebration.

"Ah ha!"

She drew out a crown, a gold, plastic crown that looked suspiciously like it flashed...

She lifted her head and seized Warrick Brown with her gaze.

It was the first time she had even so much as looked at him that evening.

Her blue eyes were slightly glazed with the drink, but forceful. A woman determined to keep her emotions tightly locked and challenging him to do the same.

That he could deal with. Maybe if she just triumphantly humiliated him it would even out the score a little, would help to lessen his guilt. So he remained calm watching her closely as she leaned over the table on the very tip of her already perilously high heeled toes and crowned him King of the Bachelor party, balancing the tacky crown on his head and kissing his forehead brusquely before she withdrew.

"Better!" She proclaimed with a satisfied nod.

Turning back she spied Sara who was grinning goofily at Warrick's misfortune.

"Sara!"

The Sidle grin faded in anticipation of what was to come.

What Sara did not expect was the squeal of; "You look fantastic!" that accompanied the quick tight hug she received, as Catherine just plain ignored the way Sara awkwardly dismissed both the hug and the 'fantastic' comment with a muttering and a shake of her head. Then before she could duck away Sara too was decorated, with something pink and floaty. A flowered lei, in sharp pink, was royally hung around her neck and a matching single flower slipped above her ear to entangle with her curls.

Without even pausing for breath Catherine was scrambling in the bag again, whilst Grissom grinned at Sara as she lifted the flowered garland distastefully and Warrick noted that her cheeks were as pink as the blooms.

He felt a pang of brotherly affection for her, she did look pretty tonight, even with the foliage, it was a damn shame that she refused to believe it. Every woman needed to know that about herself every once in a while.

"What about you?" Warrick questioned, touching his new accessory and indicating Catherine's bag of goodies. "Surely you don't miss out?"

She held up a single finger before withdrawing a long black snaking feather boa and encircling her own neck with it before winking and blowing him a kiss.

"Nicky, my friend..." she was off again, slowly and theatrically withdrawing a large cowboy hat. Enjoying every moment of embarrassment she was inducing!

"A Stetson for my Southern friend..." She tapped it into place just before he reached up and tilted it at her cowboy style with a wink of his own.

"Now Greggo... Always with the new hairstyles..." she leant over, deeper into the bag giving both Nick and Warrick an extra explicit view down her top to scanty black silk and lace without meaning too, her words disappearing into the bottom of the bag.

"Ah ha!" She cried finally withdrawing a slim line packet. A tinsel wig in rainbow colours.

"Rockin!" Greg responded sarcastically, making the sign of the Devil Horns with his hand. But he still unwrapped his wig and knowing the hairstyle he had so carefully moulded would be lost forever under it, gave a sigh before he lowered it over the spikes.

The others applauded as he shook it making the strands dance.

But Catherine just eyed him curiously for a moment, one brow raised.

"Wait a minute," she reached out and tilted his face towards her before breaking into a dirty grin as she nodded to herself. "You're getting some!"

Greg blushed wildly as the others burst into laughter around him.

Then his own grin stretched wide as he lifted his palms to her and just shrugged his shoulders tauntingly! Yet across from him Nick pointed wildly over Catherine's shoulder trying to show her Callie who was preparing their drinks at the bar.

"What, she works here?!" Catherine's eyes gleamed with mischief. Turning, she checked out where she was being shown.

"Excellent choice!" She slapped him a little too hard on the shoulder, and his face contorted in pain, but Catherine was already moving on.

She rounded on Grissom, who froze mid laugh.

The others couldn't help but grin as Grissom's Adam's apple bobbed visibly as he swallowed.

"And..." Catherine began dramatically. "For the great scientist amongst us..."

Grissom had closed his eyes. Refusing to look.

This, these stupid gag gifts, gag outfits... This was why you **DID NOT** invite women to bachelor parties...

She withdrew her gift, knowing it was simply the best yet.

Massive oversized scientist glasses. Huge ones, they must have been a good foot and a half wide, with spiders decorating the frames. Clearly part of a costume for Halloween.

Leaning over she slipped them into place over his ears and across the bridge of Grissom's nose whilst the others fell about laughing wildly.

They dwarfed his face.

Yet the funniest thing was that Grissom refused to open his eyes. He simply sat there, his cheeks flaming and shook his head from side to side as his tongue slid out over his bottom lip as he bit it to stop the laughter he felt inside from escaping.

Oh no... he couldn't laugh. That would give her the satisfaction he really didn't want her to have right now!

Sara's stomach muscles were screaming she was laughing so hard, she had seen Gil Grissom in countless awkward situations but never anything even remotely like this!

The laughter was cleansing, was cathartic, was bonding.

Was simply fun.

"Oh my!" Callie's voice broke into the conversation! "What are you guys doing?!"

"This one?" Catherine asked Greg, in the least subtle way she could manage, a dramatic stage whisper as she cocked her thumb violently in Callie's direction.

Warrick watched her relish the way Greg visibly cringed.

"Yes," came Greg's sharp hiss of a reply, before he politely introduced Catherine and then the rest of the table to Callie. Including Grissom who had finally conceded to the ritual humiliation and opened his eyes, although he had been halted as he had attempted to remove the glasses by one challenging look from Ms. Willows.

Greg took great care when he introduced Nick, feeling the others eyes on him as they all studiously avoided looking at Nick, all on edge, all a little afraid of what he might say. A faint chorus of released breath escaped them as Nick simply shook Callie's hand with a warm smile and then released it.

"Okay," Callie began, as she passed out the drinks, thankfully oblivious to the previous nervousness that had surrounded her. People gleefully claimed their orders until Callie reached a fruit juice of some kind.

Sara's drink. Sara's non-alcoholic drink.

When Sara reached for it she found herself the object of two different kinds of attention.

From ninety percent of the attended she received the 'what not drinking?' expression of indignant curiosity. From one single percent, one single party, one who still wore stupid oversized glasses, she received a look of concern.

"Oh I'm sorry guys, I'm driving. Just think... free ride home?"

She tried to duck the question by posing one of her own and by thanking Callie with a smile as she left to return to the bar, but still they stared accusingly.

"And I'm not sure my stomach could handle alcohol after this last decomp case."

She unconsciously placed a palm over her belly to contain the violent lurch she felt at remembering Greg's unwanted 'sampling'.

Their bemused expressions didn't let up.

She looked pointedly over at Greg, " Maybe you should ask 'Hannibal the Cannibal' over there..."

Four faces rounded on Greg momentarily noting his screwed up expression of sheer revulsion, and the way his brows sank in a demonic look that was directed back towards her, before they all swung their attention to Sara once again awaiting the rest of her story...


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition. BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and mentions events from that episode._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'_

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! _

_Sorry this chapter has been a while, it drove me crazy!! This is something like the third version… count yourselves lucky I am not making you read the first two… they were sooooo BAD!!_'palign'centre'>

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne

_Chapter Nine._

Around their booth the place had filled, the air was humming with fragments of disconnected conversations and thrills of laughter, all intertwined with faint snatches of melody and lyric drifting through from music tracks which fluttered away before you could grasp hold of them long enough to recognise them.

As they waited to hear all about his latest humorous misadventure Greg swayed his way to his feet, realizing that no amount of scowling was going to deter Sara from telling her tale.

He took a moment to wonder why she wasn't drinking, for a flicker it concerned him, there had been rumours about the lab recently, unkind rumours involving her and a newly discovered penchant for the numbing allure of liquor and even mention of a sweeping under the carpet of a DUI, but he had chosen to ignore them.

As he watched her gracefully capture the attentions of her audience, her eyes clear and sparkling, and he knew his concern was unfounded.

He knew Sara, she wasn't a drunk… and he also knew full well that she was using him to get away from the unwanted attention she was currently receiving.

He pursed his lips in resentment, but he guessed he owed her. Mainly for not laughing at his misfortune during the very same human goo incident of which she spoke.

If it came down to it, which he supposed it had, it was better for her to laugh now than it had been in the immediate aftermath of the incident.

In the craziest way it was more of a hazing. Another small way in which he found himself being drawn into the more than dysfunctional family of the graveyard shift team. He had, over his time working with them, usually whilst spending many hours waiting for a suspect, or court, or the results of a test, heard all about the others and their first few traumatic and humiliating adventures and accidents.

So… if it had to be his time, this time, he guessed that this story wasn't the worse in his ever-expanding arsenal.

It was damned near official that there weren't many who could have witnessed it, let alone been the unfortunate soul who experienced it first hand, and kept their stomach contents or their face straight.

Sara was also kind enough to make mention her own response to the decomp, one that their faces showed they knew all too well. One that even years of exposure to such decomposition couldn't culture imperviousness to. The deep pull in the belly as the stomach muscles clenched and rippled into an uncontrollable heave, whether you had eaten or not. The smell that clung and made the air thick, and ruined clothes and sometimes relationships.

He was touched to hear that she was actually making him sound brave, and a part of him wondered if it would be worth hanging around to hear her rendition, and let her praise give him a nice ego stroke. Yet the more he listened he quickly recognised that he really could not stay. And then he was suddenly very sure that he could not listen to her recap his misfortune, not with the alcohol in his stomach suddenly rolling about like that. He wouldn't want to ruin his new tough-guy image by having to rush half way across the room and empty his stomach into the nearest flowerbed.

So instead he saluted the table in recognition of their support, but only Sara's eyes danced to his and then with a raise of her eyebrows she carried on.

He made a show of shaking his head at Sara, at least pretending that the story was of no consequence to him, hell… he ought to get special recognition of some kind, the willpower it had taken for him not to immediately upchuck everything and contaminate the scene.

Reaching out he placed a gentle palm on Catherine's shoulder to capture her attention.

"On that note…"

He trailed off realising that no one was listening to him. That even Catherine wasn't responding to his touch, her eyes on Sara, hungry on the scent of his impending humiliation.

Depraved minds, the lot of them, he scowled watching as they all eagerly leaned closer to Sara as she continued to divulge. Scavengers, vultures, damn them for that instinctive curiosity that made them all so very good at their jobs.

Tilting his head at Catherine, again and realising she was still ignoring him, he simply nudged her into his place in the booth, noticing that her attention flickered to Warrick, beside her for just a split second, her expression segueing into something vaguely like nervousness, a flash in her eyes and then with another blink it was gone and she lifted her head and leisurely and downright sensuously slid herself down next to Warrick, letting her thigh brush against his. Warrick didn't flinch, or look at her either… curious. Although as he hovered a moment watching them he saw that they both seemed to be getting more aware of one another by the second and seemed to be tensing up tighter and tighter as the more they fought to act natural the more unnatural they became… Something awkward there…

Probably just Catherine feeling offence at not being invited to the wedding, or even being told about it.

He, himself, would never have expected to be invited, he may have been a member of the team for a while now, but they still saw him as the 'newbie' whatever they pretended to other wise.

But Catherine…

If anyone would have been included, invited, asked to plan it, it would have been her. She and Warrick, they were close, close enough to incite more rumours than… well… his eyes flicked to the other heavily speculated over couple at their table, and found one watching the other with devoted interest.

His own eyes strayed to his very own special point of interest, over the other side of the room.

"Drink?" He asked Catherine, waiting patiently for a moment and then increasingly impatiently before he finally received her distracted response. Then he turned to head to the bar, crossing the matching pink carpet, swerving other patrons in a complicated dance. Surprisingly no one in the place took notice of the mass of what could only be described as Christmas decoration, which fluttered around his ears. Hey, when in Vegas… Not that he was really looking out for reactions, oh no, his eyes were drawn powerlessly to Callie as she moved his graceful dancing partner, mixing her drinks with practised ease, unaware of her intent audience of one.

He felt a twinge of pride when she stood back, a look of barely disguised boredom on her pretty face, as one of the other male bar staff threw his mixer in the air in a poor Tom Cruise imitation and felt completely vindicated when 'Tom' turned for her admiration and she gave him a forced smile and instead turned and searched him out, meeting his gaze and he could have sworn that they both held a single thought in their heads.

Something gleeful along the lines of… 'Hope he drops it, fool.'

He gave her a wink, mouthed Catherine's drink order to her, shamelessly jumping the queue. What else was he dating a waitress for! No, that was hardly fair. This was just her part time job, Callie wasn't really a waitress, she was a student in grad school. As smart as they come, sharp as any of his CSI colleagues, well, maybe not as sharp as Grissom, but he had quite a few years on her.

Smart, sexy, downright gorgeous… he had spent the last few weeks wondering what on earth he had done to deserve her.

Whilst he waited he took a moment, wanting to make sure that his table had moved on to topics his stomach could handle before he returned.

The bar was getting pretty close to capacity now, it was getting warmer in there as all the bodies were getting closer and closer to one another. He had already been forced to stare over a few shoulders to see the bar, although at just over six foot he was not yet forced to stand up on tiptoe. Across the room a band seemed to be setting up for some kind of performance, and the music seemed to be getting louder now to compete with all the voices and the laughter and the musician's test chords.

So this was what it was like to have fun. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a normal life where you didn't work all night and sleep all day. Where the only things you had to worry about or scare you were simple and none threatening. Things like getting up on time for work after a few beers, or remembering to be on time to catch your flight home.

He used to have a life like this. A pretty insane social life by many standards, and for a while after becoming a CSI he had tried to keep it up, but really all that was left now was a pretty unique collection of rock band T-shirts and some rather dusty drunken photographs. It felt like he had worked the graveyard shift forever now. That the days of college and drinking and laughter were a million miles away.

He had only met Callie completely by chance, he'd accidentally stumbled over her in a mall coming out of a store, not looking where he was going as he raced his usual one hundred miles per hour. He had not only crashed into her spilling her bags, but also the hot coffee she had just bought. He had to admit that events like this only really happened in the movies, the darn sickly 'meet-cute', accidental spill, and invite her out to coffee to apologise… but it was working.

Maybe helping out all these poor lost souls who ended up requiring CSI services had built him up some pretty good karma.

Checking in with his friends he saw the story telling was still in full swing.

His eyes followed the fluid motion of Sara's uncharacteristically exuberant gestures as she told her tale, even down to a re-enactment of the way he had yanked and yanked at the stopper to release it from the floor of the trunk so that the human goo could escape into the waiting bucket.

He clamped his lips together and tried not to let the memories contaminate his current good mood.

He'd had decomposing human fat and tissue in his mouth… it had splattered with more precision than a Catherine Willow's quality standard splatter analysis right into his unsuspecting orifice.

He couldn't hold back the shiver; orifice was such a horrible word. His mind unconsciously using more formal and distasteful words to distance his memory from his current.

He'd needed more than toothpaste and mouthwash to remove that taste, human really didn't taste like chicken, no matter what all the cartoons used to say.

He really hoped that the team would be kind to him, just in this one instance and not mention it whilst Callie was in earshot. That was definitely something she did not need to hear about, possibly ever.

He closed his eyes briefly and willed away the irony taste that flooded his tongue, and almost bit right through it when he opened his eyes with perfect timing to see Sara's gleefully exaggerated final imitation yank, and her swinging elbow smack the stupid fake glasses right off Grissom's nose and clear across the table sending the others into fits of near hysterical laughter.

It was nice, if not a little curious, to see her this way, so relaxed and really openly smiling, if he hadn't known her better he would have said she was getting some too.

She hadn't even gotten to tell them that she'd thought Grissom would be proud of him, yet… or his surprisingly witty, considering the circumstances, response that Grissom would have tasted it on purpose… and still they were already close to literally rolling in the aisles clutching their stomachs.

Oh, he'd thought it too soon, he rolled his eyes, there it was, followed by the resounding humour it deserved and punctuated by the sharp way that Nick slapped his own leg in amusement. The sound resonating in the air. He couldn't be sure as he wasn't close enough to hear their actual conversation, but he just assumed that Nick was playing up to his new cowboy image, but with Nick you never could be sure.

Feeling soft, cool fingers curl around the bare skin of his bicep, he turned with a jolt to find Callie beside him, her tray balanced with unnerving skill in her other hand, she reached up, ruffling the glittering strands of his wig with her fingertips before she offered him Catherine's drink, and a slight teasing smile layered with so many intentions, and then slipped away to deliver her other orders, her hips swaying and her fingers' lingering caress fading slowly from his arm.

Oh he had it bad and he didn't care who knew.

_**0000000000**_

"If it isn't the man of the hour!" Sara cried as Greg returned to the table, her grin still on high wattage.

With a dismissive shake of his head she watched as he placed the drink in front of Catherine before nudging the blonde's shoulder with his side to get her to slide over so he could sit down.

Around the table each person hitched over to their left, bringing a certain Gil Grissom much, much, closer to her. So close that his leg was now touching hers. They were pressed together from knee to hip, and he was warm like a furnace.

She had to breathe slowly for a moment or two, in an attempt to restrain the nervous tremble that ran through her leg, the muscles already under stress from her high-heeled shoes. His heat enticed goose bumps all along her flesh, spreading like wildfire from where they touched, the comfortable, soft jean material and the slightly soft of his black trousers, were no barrier between them.

His rolled up shirt sleeve brushed the bare skin of her upper arm in a teasing stroke, tickling her freckles, as he reached to retrieve the big glasses she had sent flying, and she bit her lip again at her bodies traitorous response. Was it possible for her breasts to actually swell… just from that?! She fought the urge to cross her arms over herself.

Having seized the glasses, for what could quite possibly the first time she had ever seen it, and if not it certainly hadn't happened in a long time, Gil Grissom tried to make a funny, attempting to slide the glasses into the small breast pocket of his shirt as he would his usual pair. Jeez… he must be drunk.

Tilting her face up to his she favoured him with a sweet semi-indulgent smile, closing her eyes and shaking her head with a sigh.

But he was grinning at her when she opened her eyes again and their gaze held as her smile widened to match his.

Oh dear… there was that heart dropping several stories response again. And for a distracted moment she wondered if that wonderful roller coaster feeling was why Grissom chose to ride those damn things so much.

'…amazing'

She still couldn't believe he had said that. That one was going to fuel her bedtime daydreams for good long while.

"And by the way, Sidle," Nick's voice snapped her out of her connection with Grissom, "I believe you owe me a little cash…" he smiled a sneaky grin, rubbing the fingers of his right hand together.

She frowned in confusion, money…? Her eyebrows rose.

With a barely controlled spurt of laughter Nick flung both his hands out, indicating Grissom, like the glitzy hostess on a cheap game show displays the prize.

He watched as his meaning dawned on her, drawing her frown deeper, and Grissom's curiosity swayed his head in-between the pair.

With a sigh Sara lifted her hips, feeling cold air rush over the newly exposed leg at the loss of Grissom's heat, her fingers rooting in her pocket for a 10 bill.

"Ha ha!" Nick cried, as Grissom frowned, his gaze watching the cash change hands, "next rounds on Sara! Well… partially on Sara… maybe just my drink in a nice place like this!"

She glared at him one last time, before lowering herself back down to the seat and back into contact with Grissom, sucking her pursed lips back in before she opened her mouth a few times, searching for just the right way to explain to Grissom why he was the obvious focus of their bet, but before she could grasp the right words Nick spoke for her.

"Someone," he jerked his chin somewhat less than subtly at Sara, "called me a liar when I suggested that you might be joining us this evening."

"I did not!" Her indignant reply was followed by laughter from both of the men, before she realised that she was being teased and her nose wrinkled before she gave into her smile.

"Fine." She practically growled at Nick. "I didn't think you would come." She raised her palms in a shrug.

Her gaze flitted nervously to Grissom, but he returned it calmly, with just a flicker of something which might have been sadness clouding his eyes.

"Nicky, I suggest you spend all that money wisely." She countered and shook her head as he laughed.

As Nick made a deliberate theatric of rolling up the bill and tucking it into the brim of his cowboy hat, and the others laughed around them at Nick's actions, Sara leant into Grissom. Nudged in close to his ear, feeling the extreme heat of him, and the vague leftover scent of cologne or soap, her stomach felt like it was a solid ball of nerves, but she just had to say it. Quickly, before she chickened out.

"I'm glad you did come."

She felt his smile rather than saw it, as she was moving away the moment the last word passed her lips, reaching out to capture her drink, the cold condensation on the glass heaven to her damp and nervous palms.

Hey, she could be brave, but she wasn't that brave!

"Are you sure about that drink, Sar?" Warrick suddenly asked her. His calm, considerate, eyes across the table making his phoney bachelor crown all the more ridiculous. " Come on… it's a party!" he continued, growling the last word, looking upwards to indicate his headwear.

"We could get a taxi home," Grissom contributed as the others nodded too, "I'll bring you back in the morning to get your car if you'd like."

All eyes shot to him, including Sara's. Silence reigned just for a moment before it was replaced by the sounds of smothered laughter and many humorous sideways glances between Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Greg.

"Trying to get yourself an invite there, Griss?!" Nick's knowing look raised his eyebrows almost all the way to his hairline and his shoulders were heaving with his laughter.

Only Nick could get away with saying that, and only after all that had happened. None of the others would have dared. They would have blinked away the lower meaning and snickered about it only later.

Oh… so this was what happened when you gave CSI's alcohol…

"Huh?" Came Grissom's bemused reply before he murmured, 'Oh!" as the double entendre of his words began to sink in, fighting against the flush, which swept up from his chest right up to the tips of his ears.

Oh God!! He'd used the words 'home', and 'we' and…

By 'we' he'd meant all of them, by home he'd meant…

He'd practically invited himself…

If they only knew just how close to his, suddenly within reach, dreams that was.

But the others were smiling, even Sara.

Actually, she was laughing the most, the pink of her cheeks exactly the same shade as her floral wreath.

She waved her hands at him through her laughter, in acceptance of his unspoken apology, understanding the excellent goldfish impression he was currently giving, but the light in her eyes told him so much more.

As the laughter died down a sudden announcement over the microphone, from the rather self-important sounding voice of the band's lead singer, boomed across the bar. Letting everyone know that the entertainment was about to start.

Greg, Catherine, Warrick and Nick, all twisted their bodies to check out the action behind them.

Sara watched Grissom watching the others. His ears were still pink. He was chewing on his lip. Pensive, worrying over what had simply been kind words that the others had, unintentionally and almost cruelly, filled in with more sordid details! Not that they were aware of how close to the mark they were, or how fragile the budding… thing… was between them. Oh, and not that going home with Grissom would be sordid… oh God no!

The corners of her lips turned up.

After a moment his head dipped, his eyes closing briefly and her heart filled with tenderness for him.

She glanced down over to where Grissom's hand lay palm down against his trousers.

The need to comfort overwhelming her, she reached out and ever so gently caressed her smaller two fingers over his. Allowing them to intertwine for a moment, squeezing gently, feeling the sweet rush of the enticing friction of skin against skin.

Both of them stared hypnotised down at their joined hands, the lazy sliding movement of them still inducing warm tingles that trailed up their wrists. Her long slim fingers, and his darker, broader ones.

Both raised their heads at the very same moment, as if their touch linked more than their hands. Their eyes met shyly and the emotions that he read in hers left him feeling heady, the light he had previously glimpsed was burning brighter, all at once forgiving, teasing and, could it really be… inviting?

And then her touch was gone, her hand withdrawn to the safety of her own lap just in time, as Catherine twisted back to pick up her drink and the band before them crashed into song.

He could still feel the ghost of her fingers, watching them as they fidgeted now, curled in her own lap.

Oh boy… he had it bad…


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition. BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'_

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

_**Stars in Motion.**_

By Rianne.

_Chapter ten._

Sara had never heard of the band that was pounding away before her, couldn't even see them that well as the lights had been dimmed and the stage was haloed in flashing spots, but the music was loud and fun and her fingers began to unconsciously to tap in rhythm against the table.

She'd always had an instinct where music was concerned. Not that she had any kind of singing voice, nails on a chalk board more like, but she did have an inner rhythm that all at once danced to its own beat, and tended to seek comfort and security within the familiar rhythms of people she knew. She was often drawn to the inner music of others.

Grissom with his slow and steady, occasionally thoughtful and yet always controlled beat; the classical of course! Warrick with his lazy slow and sensual; the Jazz! Greg with his happy up-tempo rage; the clubber! Catherine with her constant fluctuations, high screaming down to low in milliseconds; the angry chick rock! Nick with his giddy twang and finger clicking tempo; always the country! All of them bringing their own combinations to the harmony of the team.

But herself… what kind of rhythm did she let other read from her. What did she bring to their unique symphony? As of late it must have been downbeat, low and sulky. Certainly not the excited, throw her hands in the air, spin around the room she was starting to feel again.

For a spark she remembered a faint, long lost flash of happy from her murky past. Her mother had left the radio on in their kitchen, she had been alone in the living room, a shy and lonely child reading her book, but the music had floated over to her, vibrant and enticing. She'd soldiered on, reading the same page and then the same sentences over and over trying to keep her attention grounded… funny, she couldn't remember the book she had been reading, or the song that had filled the room, but she could remember the rhythm. Remember the way that sunshine had shone in beams through the tattered old blinds and that the beams had danced with dust particles. She could remember finally giving in and throwing down her book and finding herself dancing, swirling circles in the air with her arms, her clothes trailing out through the air with the motion, her unruly straggly curls bouncing. She had been laughing, happy, abandoned and free, spinning whirling circles around the coffee table that stood in the middle of their sparse, beige room.

Then the slam came. Rattling the walls, stopping her in her tracks. Her father home from work. His presence in the house sending a crash of blackness over the sunshine.

The radio had been missing when she had crawled out from the relative safe of under her bed the next morning, after she was sure that the fighting had stopped. She'd found it smashed to pieces in the back yard a few days later… she hadn't danced again in that house. Not that they had lived there for much longer.

The band gloated through applause at the end of their first track and then roared to life again with their second. Her leg joined in with the new rhythm, this time, but she had forgotten her proximity to Grissom. The new friction was a sudden rush through her, she hadn't meant to do it but the motion rubbed her leg up and down against his. The beat was intoxicating, and having him so near was just as exhilarating, she couldn't stop once she started. She was fascinated by her body's reaction to it, to the new power she was feeling. And she was damned if she was ever going to hide being happy again.

She couldn't be sure, but the first time the back of his finger brushed against the inside of her wrist she thought she imagined it. By the time she looked across at him his hand was in his lap like before and he was watching the band with avid interest.

The second brush held more intent. She could have sworn that the corners of his lips turned up. The caress of the back of his finger, tracing the veins on the vulnerable inside of her wrist, before teasing up over the heel of her hand, a sensation which tickled its way up to making her fingers twitch on the table top.

Then he had withdrawn again. Reaching for his glass.

She blinked, staring hard at the band and the back and shoulders of her friends as they swayed in their seats.

No, she had, she'd imagined it. Twice. She must have. It was darker now. She must have been mistaken.

Yet, there it was again. His touch sliding up her arm, from the pulse beating faster at her wrist, up, up… tentative at first, lightly skimming, then growing more intense, teasing, tickling, stroking… the musical motion of her leg against his becoming more of a nervous tremble than a dance.

When his gentle touch was almost at her elbow, it glided back down again, his finger sliding over onto the top of her arm so that the pad of his fingertip traced over the light, highly sensitive hairs that dusted the skin, making them stand on end.

Then his touch was gone again. Slipping back into the darkness from whence it came.

Oh that was no conjuring thrill of her overactive imagination. His caress had teased goose bumps from her flesh. Proof. And they say that the evidence never lies…

She risked a sideways glance, keeping her head dipped, then sliding her gaze up slowly until she found him watching her intently, his expression shaded, but the fascination written across his face was crystal clear as their eyes met.

Oh no… this, this was real! This wasn't some idle daydream she had invented to pass the time, or fill some void in her social life.

His eyebrows raised just a touch in recognition, his irises glittering at her with amusement.

He said something, but the sound was lost to the music. Yet she heard him loud and clear.

He'd accused her of being a 'tease!'

With another smile he began to slowly tap his foot, reinitiating the friction that warmed their legs. To show her just what he though had warranted his accusation. The grin across his face was as charming as it was cheeky.

She couldn't believe he'd said that. How dare he!! How dare he suggest that after his whispered breathing in her ear before? If any one was a tease right now…!

He must be drunk… but his eyes were clear and creased with amusement and his touch was definitely sure and right on the money.

Oh boy… so this was what happened when you mixed Grissom with Whisky and threw in a little playtime... but heaven help her, she liked this experiment!

Her eyebrow raise mirrored his, yet hers was laced with mock confusion and her best attempt at innocence, her mouth forming an 'O' of indignation.

Playing with him was fun… If he wanted a battle of wills… he was going to get one…

There was no way he was allowed to know that this was affecting her so much.

She pursed her lips at him, eyes crinkling, as she turned away to hide her breaking smile by pretending to be watching the band again.

It was nice to know that her touch seemed to be having the same kind of effect on him as his was on her.

Then as soon as her attention was elsewhere the phantom touch returned. The movements of his fingertips started up again. Sliding up and over her funny bone to the especially sensitive flesh of her inner upper arm. Her front teeth made a ridge indention in her lower lip as she bit into it to restrain the groan that surprised her by rumbling up inside. His finger was scant millimetres from her breast. Just a nudge of that elbow and…

The more he moved, the lighter his touch and the more she desperately wanted to squirm against it, search it out, wiggle her hips against the seat beneath her, but that couldn't be.

There was no way she was letting him know just how ticklish she was. No way he was going to win this.

Her chest was rising and falling more obviously than before with the force of restraining her panting breathlessness as her body tried to betray her true responses, yet the volume and swell of the music were a ample disguise.

She meant to find some way in which to tease him in return, she really did, but her world was rapidly shrinking down to the single point where his tinglingly rough fingertip made contact with her bare flesh. She swore that she could feel each individual ridge in his fingerprint, each rise of it stirring something akin in her.

It was an unusual, but not all together unwelcome feeling. The lights on the band before her began to blur and spin as she began to relax and lull into the dreamlike sensation. The dark, and his heat, turning their little corner of the table into a sweet cocoon. Their own little world.

It was surreal, to feel that contact and know just who it came from, and know that it was risky, that their friends were seated just a few inches from them. And to know that despite all of that, Grissom, the man who had never been brave with his emotions in the entire time she had known him, was playing this game. Playing with fire.

Oh god, they shouldn't be doing this. But they'd have to set the room a blaze before she'd have the power to stop him right now.

This, this was the kind of thing that real couples did! This was the kind of naughty surreptitious playing and teasing, flirting, she'd craved from him, and she was damned if she was going to stop him now, even if he was acting under the super powers of some liquid courage!

Whilst her mind had started to wander his touch was back down at her wrist, exploring with an idle stroke. Then ever so slowly he slipped higher and higher, she could feel his gaze on her, sleepy and yet unwavering. She was glad the curtain of her hair hid her heated cheeks. He was trying to gauge her responses to him, but she was getting close to too far-gone to care and she just couldn't hold back the shiver that rumbled throughout her.

Had she ever been touched with such affectionate sensuality before?

No… not even in the bedroom.

How could she be so sensitive, react so much from so little? He was only touching her arm for goodness sake! It was the simplest, gentlest of explorations.

Yet warmth was filling her, gliding through her on the ebb and beat of the music. Pleasure was fast becoming something more. Fast becoming arousal.

Then he reached the crease of her elbow, and all thought left her. Her head tilted back on her shoulders, her mouth falling open and her eyes lulling closed at the sweetness.

And then he was gone.

She didn't even get chance to reach out to him, as the room around her span hindering her desperate search for focus. Her mind felt like it was weeks behind. Through the darkness and the flashing colours and the blur she finally saw that the others were moving around the table. Catherine was on her feet, wrapping her feather boa around Greg's neck as she used it as reins to drag him across the room to where a crowd had gathered on a makeshift dance floor.

Nick was standing too, encouraging Warrick to follow, and then body checking him out of the way when he declined before grasping a bleary-eyed, stunned Sara by the hand, before Grissom could do anything about it, and hauling her after Catherine and Greg.

The last two men remained at the table. Staring wordlessly in the direction of those who had just left them.

_**0000000000**_

Grissom could still feel the unbelievable softness of her skin against the tip of his finger. The residue tingle of the tickling caress.

For a minute it kept her next to him, kept the rhythm of the intimate thump of her pulse against his finger and the frictionful motion of her leg beating against his. But it quickly faded.

He'd only meant to tap her wrist, a gentle, subtle warning to make her aware of how the motion of her leg, bouncing against his, was… well it was hardly making him uncomfortable… but it was taunting his mind into conjuring some interesting and extremely creative daydreams, which would be fantasies come true for him, but more than uncomfortable for the rest of the bar if she provoked him any longer!

Yet, the first time he had touched her, her skin had been so downy soft, and she had looked so sweetly bemused by it, tilting her head towards him, so obviously missing his point, and he had used that as the flimsiest excuse ever to not resist his urge to touch her again.

It was a new feeling for him. Wanting and actually giving in to it. Being allowed to touch her, even though she had always seemed open to it, he had always been the one to hold back. Fool!!

And then one touch had just lead helplessly into another.

She was so soft there, he doubted there was any place on his own body as soft and that included the places the daylight never touched. She was so vulnerable. He had been able feel the pulse fluttering as it sped up under the tender flesh at her slender wrist, felt each shiver and then did his best to elicit more trembles from her.

Oh the way she had reacted…

She was tempting and dangerous, and he couldn't believe he had done that in such an exposed environment, or that she had let him, not with the others so close. Yet really when viewed out of context it was pretty innocent touching as far as touching went. Yet when considered in relation to them it was pretty huge.

She was so responsive he couldn't help but think of other ways to get her to react like that. Or think how things might be if this 'thing' between them were to get as serious as he'd like.

He certainly didn't need to worry any more about her level of attraction to him. Her reactions were proof irrefutable that she had been honest when she had treated him like a desirable man, not the grey sagging old man he sometimes didn't recognise when he looked in the mirror.

A tease down the top of her arm had elicited goose bumps and he couldn't help but grin with pride. That certainly tapped into something deep and masculine.

And then the triumph of sliding just the tip of his fingertip through the valley at her elbow. Her reaction to that had been overwhelmingly sensual, she'd arched back, her head rolling on her shoulders and her mouth had slid open, wet and inviting, her eyes heavily lulling closed. He'd definitely found an erogenous zone there.

He had never seen her look more alluring.

He'd wanted to kiss her again right there, to really taste that aching mouth, deep, slow and long. A real kiss, not like the tender peck they had shared after coffee. This kiss would have been forceful and heated, voyeurs be damned.

Then the others had been moving and he had been jerked sharply back to the present, had pulled his fingers back, and had dragged his eyes away from the sensual tableaux she made.

Catherine and Greg and Nick were on their feet, laughing and dancing away from the table.

And then Nick had grasped a tight hold of Sara's hand and then she had been gone. Dragged away after Catherine and Greg to the dance floor. Leaving only cold air and the whisper of her heat and a light breezing of her perfume behind.

He'd felt a little sorry for her, and also pretty smug, to see her stumble a little under Nick's grasp, her hair tangling in her face as he steadied her with a laugh.

Oh he had certainly affected her!

But if he had known there would be dancing, even dancing like this… he wanted to have been the one to ask her.

Not that he could dance to music like this without looking an idiot… or his age.

But the gentleman, and lets face it, the man, inside him felt his gut tighten as he watched her and Nick spin around the small dance floor, his four friends easy to pick out due to their crazy outfits amongst the expensively dressed younger crowd of dancers.

He knew without a doubt that Nick meant nothing with his affectionate hold beyond the friendly camaraderie that they had always shared. He wasn't stupid, he knew that Nick, along with Greg, had been very taken with Miss Sidle way back when he had first brought her in from San Francisco, almost as taken with her as he had been, but he had long been used to pretending to ignore the flirting that went on between the three younger CSI's. But now it was suddenly all the more acute.

Jealousy was a somewhat stupid emotion for a man of his age. It seemed a more suited tendency of a younger man, one who was a little green around the edges to begin with.

He didn't even really have permission to be jealous.

Oh! This new level of confusion where she was concerned was pretty unwelcome. He'd always been a man who was sure of himself at least, so clear and comfortable about what he wanted.

He sighed, picking up his whisky again, swirling the amber liquid around his glass.

Beside him he caught a companion sigh, as Warrick leaned back in the chair, dropping the plastic crown into the middle of the table as if he was giving up.

His proverbial white flag. His subtle conversation invite.

The entire length of Warrick's frame was tense and teenage sulky, Grissom sucked in his lips and then leaned closer to be heard.

"You okay?"

Warrick's non-committal shrug spoke volumes.

"Well… every nine years and thirty-four days…" Grissom tried with a smile.

Warrick's small smile of response softened the surprise in his face, a look of amazement that pulled at Grissom.

He'd surprised Warrick with his concern. That was a little insulting considering that he had been there for the cocky CSI all through the early, troublesome years, he had spent on his team after joining the Vegas Lab.

Just when had people started to view him as such an uncaring person? He thought he worked hard for the team, and stood behind them always, the silent support, but he had to admit that maybe Catherine would have a few complaints against that statement. And that maybe seen as being the silent supporter wasn't working all that well for them, that maybe he should try being more verbal.

"Catherine?" He asked Warrick.

The other man's nod was slight but clear.

"She'll get over it. I'll bet she's more upset about missing a wedding."

Warrick tried to smile at his Bosses attempt at humour and comfort.

Grissom had been peripherally aware of the interactions between Catherine and Warrick right from the first moment they had laid eyes on one another. Even with Eddie in the picture and Catherine a married woman her head had certainly been turned by the obviously attractive new recruit, and then they had gotten closer and locked intellect in a way that was pretty familiar, he had to admit, to the way that he and Sara had become intertwined. A glimpse of attraction heightened by the hungry intelligence and a shared passion for the thrill of the case.

"So how did you meet your wife?" Grissom put out there.

Warrick smiled at this curious, interested and personal questioning Grissom. He must be hammered! Was the thought that flashed through his mind, and come to think of it, he and Nick and Greg had certainly been draining their pints of beer at a rapid pace, but Grissom was on the rather heavier whisky…

"Met her at the hospital, she was the nurse who stitched me up when I had that… er accident with the window pane." He explained.

Grissom had to smile as he recalled the shattered window that he had sent to Warrick to have him reconstruct, only for a sliver to slice through his fingertip. It had been a case-breaking piece of evidence. The second time he had been given such an intensively mind-boggling task to perform.

"She said that I could either take her out for a drink, or she'd stitch her number into my finger!"

They shared a laugh at that!

So she was a nurse, and completely unprofessional by the sound of it!

Grissom could imagine a woman like that being good for Warrick! Or maybe a dangerous combination!

He hoped it worked out for them, he really did.

"So, you aren't a dancer then, Gris?" He joked.

Shaking his head Grissom turned his attention back to the dance floor to see that Nick now wore Sara's flowered garland about his neck and she was wearing his cowboy hat over her curls as she was laughing and spinning around in a circle on the spot.

There it was, that twinge again. Accompanied by the deep pull, he'd felt for as long as he could remember, the pull of the desire just to be close to her.

"I'll er… just be…" Grissom announced, placing his glass back on the table as he tilted his head in the direction of the men's room on the other side of the room.

_**0000000000**_

Sara had been dizzy as Nick had pulled her across the room. She'd been lucky to stand upright, as her knees were still trembling, despite the refreshing rush of cool air that bathed her now that she was away from the curl of Grissom.

She had actually stumbled and Nick had been forced to catch her to prevent her from hitting the floor. Second time tonight…

Great… now she looked like some drunken tourist.

And she was wearing the stupid flowers too, no thanks to Catherine, yeah... that was really helping dispel the drunken tourist image.

But she was certainly glad she came now.

Joining Catherine and Greg they all started dancing, the music even louder now.

As she began to move she realised that she was still a little dizzy, even now, but in a good way as her mind was still dreamily recalling the gentle touch of Grissom and the way he had been looking at her. She was keeping her arm close to her body, somehow reluctant to let Nick brush up against the skin that Grissom had so recently claimed as his own. And yes, she knew that was stupid.

Her belly was dancing inside with excitement and anticipation.

She barely saw Nick, who was smiling and holding her close, as they twirled around the dance floor, which shuddered under them with the thud of the bass.

All she wanted to do was to spin, to dance and twirl like the little girl she had once dared to be.

She certainly didn't protest when Nick stole her flowers, and guided his cowboy hat over her head, tapping the rim. She felt happy and carefree and her smile was so broad her face hurt.

Around them people were dancing and she didn't feel as exposed as she'd thought half hidden by the others enjoying the band, so she gave in and laughing, twirled around, pretending to show off her new hat. Yet, it was so much more than that.

But when she glanced back to the table, hoping to exchange a smile with Grissom and share some of her elated moment with him she found he wasn't there.

She slowed to a stop, taking in Warrick alone, nursing his pint at their table.

Her eyes flicked over the room as her heart slowly began to sink and her stomach was flooded with a new cool fear.

Slipping away from Nick, who relinquished her easily, turning to dance with Catherine and Nick completely unfazed, she left the dance floor, heading out through the crowds towards the entrance hallway to the bar.

He couldn't have left… He wouldn't leave? Would he?

But she knew him all too well. This was his typical MO.

Tease, play, warm her through, and then flee the moment it got too real…

Nick had dragged her away from the table; she'd left him at the moment when he had effectively been pretty vulnerable. Left him to mull over what was happening, in that slightly irritating way she knew he did.

Oh, Nicky, what have you done?

What was up with this accidental sabotage campaign that her so-called friends were acting under?

First Greg, now Nick. She would have thought that those two would have been happy to see her in a relationship, and eventually after they had gotten over the weirdness of it being her and Griss, she'd always imagined that they would have been really pleased for them. If any of them, she would have pegged Nick and Greg for two friends who had already suspected that there were feelings beyond that of superior/subordinate between the two of them anyway.

She burst out into the brightly lit entranceway, blinking against the harsh strip lighting, to find it completely empty.

Her hope diminishing more and more with each passing moment.

Oh God… please… please don't let him have left…


	11. Chapter 11

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition. BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'_

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!_

_**Stars in Motion.**_

By Rianne.

_Chapter Eleven._

When Gil Grissom stepped out into the harsh light of the hallway, his feet sinking into the soft pink plush, the quick change to the much contrasting bright after the darker privacy of the men's room had him blinking against the gaudy vividness of the pink and the blue. He lifted his head and came to a halt without even noticing that he was no longer moving.

Down the hall, shadowed against the burn of the strip lighting, was the figure of a long and lithe beauty. Her dark curls haloed by the radiance, which beat down from the ceiling above, bathing her in a luminescent silky glow.

He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. His forehead creasing.

Sara Sidle… she was usually somewhere in the back of his mind.

Okay, he'd admit it she was always there and more often than not in the forefront of it lately, but this was getting a little ridiculous.

He must be wasted if he thought she wasn't back dancing and smiling with Nick and the others.

Or maybe he was dreaming.

Or maybe it was a very bad indication of the state of his intoxication, how many drinks had he had this evening…?

Or maybe, and this was more likely he had to admit, maybe this was a pretty huge clue as to just how far gone he was with his irrepressible feelings for her.

But it was just plain wrong that he was starting to see her in place of every woman that he met.

With another sigh he started walking again, heading back to the table, hardly anticipating spending some more time in sulky silence with Warrick.

But when he got closer to the woman he saw that it actually was Sara. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him after all.

She stood in the hall, Nick's traded cowboy hat dangling forgotten from her fingertips.

"Sara? What are you doing?"

At his voice she spun so quickly to face him he thought she might fall over. She just about managed to keep her ground, wavering slightly.

Her expression was a new one, triangulated somewhere between relief, embarrassment and something akin to rage. Her eyes flashed with it, seeming to well up a little, as her cheeks bloomed pinker and she moved her mouth in an interesting motion.

"Sara?" He tried again concern watering his tone. "Are you okay?"

He started to move towards her, reaching out his arms to touch her shoulders, but within two steps she had instead crossed the space between them and launched herself into his arms. Rocking him back on his heels. Winding her lovely long limbs tightly around his neck.

Huffing out a breath that was equal parts amusement and complete bemusement, he froze a moment, arms in the air, looking down at the willowy arch of her back and dark curls that lay on her shoulder.

Standing with her for the first time all night he came to the totally irrelevant realisation that she wasn't quite his height, even in those shoes.

She didn't move. He could feel her heart pounding. Her grip was tight with a physical strength he hadn't expected.

Lowering his arms he let his palms fall gently onto her shoulders, rubbing the slender, almost birdlike bone structure he felt beneath the warm skin and silk.

She began to shudder softly against him.

Oh, God! Was she crying?

What had happened?

He hadn't been in the bathroom that long… had he?

He really had no idea what was going on here?

Her shuddering had increased, and she'd started to make a noise, her face still buried in his shoulder.

Then the noise got louder… was that… was she laughing?

He leant back, placing a little force in counterbalance on her shoulders, trying to coax her away from him.

She was laughing!

When she finally drew back enough for him to see her face she was laughing so hard that tears were slipping down the curves of her cheeks.

She tried to control it, covering her mouth with her hand, but seeing his look of utter confusion seemed to set her off again.

She was even laughing loud enough to draw the momentary interest of the big darkly dressed bouncer who loomed at the far end of the hall. Grissom gave him a fake smile and seemingly satisfied that Grissom had the situation under control he continued on with his pacing of the doorway, much to Grissom's relief.

Clutching her stomach lightly she finally looked him in the eye and then caught him completely off guard by slamming her palms against his chest, rocking him backwards again, her huge grin and less than forceful contact proving that she was teasing him. That she was shaking off some kind of frustration with him.

And then it hit him.

Oh God! She thought he had left.

She thought that he had done exactly what he always did when she opened up to him.

She thought he had fled, and why shouldn't she…

He felt his forehead crease with a frown as he watched her turn sideways, moving so that she could support her weight by leaning heavily on the wall. Her breathlessness still overcoming her. She scrubbed her fingers over her cheeks in an attempt to remove the wet streaks.

Their eyes met again and the flare of understanding that flashed between them made her groan out loud in embarrassment.

Oh he knew her false assumption all right.

Dipping her head, she lifted Nick's cowboy hat and slid it back onto her head. Tilting the rim low to hide her face.

Her flush and her tear streaks made her look so endearing, but she clearly thought that they were just another example of proof of her every growing list of humiliations where he was concerned.

She was embarrassed by her outburst and he'd allow her that, but only for a few more moments.

He stepped closer.

Time's up.

Moving so that the tips of his shoes met the bare toes of hers.

Moving so that their stomachs were a hairsbreadth from touching, and began to brush with every breath they took.

Moving so that she was effectively boxed in. A captive audience.

He had to say this. He had to ask. Even if he knew it was a rhetorical question.

"Sara," his voice seemed to have deepened an octave, and he saw his breath tease her curls. "Did you think I had left?"

When she didn't re-emerge from under the hat he angled his upper body closer. Stretching out his arm on the wall, from elbow to wrist, to support himself as he leant in.

He reached out with his free hand and carefully tilted the hat up so he could see her again.

He gave her his best 'Tell the truth,' expression. Head tilted to the side, blue eyes teasing and bright.

Her mouth turned up at the sweet, and almost proprietary, way he was around her, even the way he was speaking to her. Oh she was getting herself into trouble here… and she liked it!

She could tell him the truth. It wasn't like he didn't know it already and it wasn't like he invited her to talk openly often.

Well, she tended to make her own opportunities to talk; well she talked, usually at the worst of moments… whilst he… well, he just floundered…

But here he was, giving her an invite, asking her about what was going on in her head.

She should seize this opportunity with both hands!

Gil Grissom opening lines of communication!

She hadn't expected that at all.

She had to worry if she wouldn't be taking advantage of him, him being under the influence of several glasses of whisky… at least. But he certainly seemed like he knew what he was saying. Although he was practically pinning her to the wall right now. And this time she hadn't asked for it.

It was always going to be a little weird at first, them learning how to be with one another in this new context. Even though they worked well together and had known one another for a long time, it still didn't do away with the awkwardness that always came with getting to know someone in this new way. Moving from colleague and friend to…

New relationships were always rife with misunderstandings at first, however small, and the sweet cosmic joke was that these little embarrassments were the things that built a foundation together.

It was normal to feel like this and it was certainly nice to feel normal, considering all the differences they had facing them.

But he was still waiting for her answer.

All he wanted was for her to admit it, to admit that she had been frightened that he had run again. To just to be honest with him and go on from there. He wasn't judging her here. He wasn't going to laugh at her for her insecurities.

Maybe he felt guilty; especially after all the ditching he had put her through in the past. He was standing out there, opening himself up to her and all she had to do was say one word… _yes_… come on Sidle, say it!

_Yes, I was worried that you had left, and it was stupid, and silly and I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for doubting you._

But it was so hard for her. She was cornered. Her mind was fighting to retreat back to her usual defensive posture, hackles raised. It was so much easier than being vulnerable before him.

But the look he was giving her made it too hard to refuse him anything.

He genuinely wanted to hear her answer, he genuinely cared and if she was completely honest with herself she felt like it did need saying. If he had picked up on her fear, letting him know he was right so he could think about it again in the future before he acted couldn't hurt.

Come on Sidle… the sentence starts with _Yes_…

But she just couldn't manage to get her mind and her mouth to work in tandem. He was too close, too warm, looking at her in that way… it was just too much and she certainly wasn't going to trust replying to some stupid squeaky schoolgirl voice.

The best she could manage was a nod, which rendered her childlike and embarrassed looking despite her best efforts not too.

Yet at her nod his eyes closed, he sighed softly, such a look of regret shadowing his face that she wanted to reach out and touch him, stroke her palm down his cheek like she had all those years ago, but before she could move he had leaned in first, moving his mouth to hover close to her ear.

She had to strain to hear his whispered words over the internal echoing thump of her own pulse.

"Sara," He sounded so wistful and sad, he paused before continuing on, his voice taking on an edge of determination she had never heard from him before. "I'm not leaving."

He paused again to collect his thoughts. Whilst she took advantage of his pause to reign in her breathing. This was really it! A moment of actual spoken truth between them. Their history in the making.

"I know I've never given you any reason to believe that, and I'm sorry. But it's different now."

At a sound in the hall both jolted, Grissom moved instinctively and protectively closer to her, shading her, his own face turning sharply towards the sound, as a door to the hall flung open, the space suddenly flooded with music as a woman came fluttering through.

Grissom's head lowered in relief, his breath escaping him.

For a moment both wavered. Hearts beating even faster, if that was humanly possible.

It wasn't someone they knew, but the chances of it being someone they knew were pretty dangerously high.

The woman paid them no attention at all, just carried on past them and down the hall, her avid focus on her intended destination of the ladies room. Clearly a woman who had indulged in a little too much to drink and now had to deal with the protests of her bladder.

A door swinging back closed further down the hall announced that they were alone again.

Still with his nose curved under the rim of the hat, breathing her in with every ragged breath, Grissom took a moment of renewed quiet before he spoke again.

"I know we're pretty new at this," he felt her jaw lift with her smile, pressing more of her deliciously soft cheek against the friction of his beard, "but I don't think we're doing too badly so far?"

He pulled his head back then, slowly, his expression shy and vulnerable, but as her shy and yet reassuring smile spread, so did his own.

"I'm sorry I doubted you." The words blurted from her. She couldn't stop them. He probably couldn't even understand a word she'd babbled, but she was glad the words were out there. Even if they hovered in the air between them. It put them back on level ground.

But he had heard her. The mutual reflection of pleasure at reaching a resolution, which she saw in his eyes, told her he had. They had cleared the air and repaired damage caused in the past that had been long requiring attention. All in the grand scheme of about four sentences! Impressive work!

And his satisfaction at their step forward was confirmed by the way he lifted his hand and placed two of his fingertips to her lips to halt her before she could speak again. Letting her know that he understood and that explanation and further apology were completely unnecessary.

She gently swayed her head from side to side, her lips curving into a smile, as they brushed back and forth against his fingers, making both lips and fingers tingle.

Mesmerised by the expression in his eyes she felt like she sank into the blue of his irises as he slid his fingers ever so lightly along the elegant arch of her cheekbone until they reached her hairline, where he gently lifted the silly hat from its perch, dropping it forgotten to the floor. Then he cradled her head in his open palms, supporting, and warm. His easy stance coaxing her to relax. His fingertips sliding deep into her curls before they began working soothingly, caressing massaging circles against her scalp. As he too stared amazed at the woman before him, drinking her in with the new awareness that she was truly in this with him. That she wanted this to work just as much as he did.

Leaning into the pressure of his touch to encourage him, she wilfully resisted the urge to purr. Her eyelids growing heavy. Oh, this… was… good! She could feel his strokes sending warm tingles all the way down her spine.

It was a little like she had always dreamed… Grissom touching her, and telling her things she had always wanted to hear. His eyes crinkling in a smile, his fingertips…

Except that in her imaginings they weren't in some bar entrance way with their friends on the other side of the wall… not that that didn't add a certain something to it…

But this… this felt good.

Just lingering there, absorbing the heat of each other, feeling the pleasurable tension between them build, enjoying the closeness.

Just relaxing and becoming comfortable with one another in such intimate proximity.

His nearness creating a warm curl in her belly.

Both falling into the warm expressions, and the deeper, more intimate smiles that glittered in their eyes.

Opening tentative avenues of trust between them.

Taking it slowly, which was new territory for her.

Knowing with refreshing certainty that this was a time to enjoy this simplicity. To not worry about going further than they were ready for just yet.

The anticipation of it all was just too damn good to rush.

But he couldn't stop his gaze as it slid from her honey pooled irises, lower to fixate on her lips.

What could just one kiss hurt?

He watched entranced as she rubbed her glossy lips together under his scrutiny, unsure whether it was instinctive, or an invite, but he didn't really care. It all read as the same thing to him.

He moved in, his nose brushing, nuzzling against hers, his lips parting and hovering over hers, teasing with his heated breath… before a gruff clearing of the throat, and a tap on the shoulder jolted Grissom aware.

_**0000000000**_

On the dance floor Nick, Catherine and Greg all cheered wildly as the band reached the end of another number, before they crashed right on into the next.

"Where'd Sara go?" Greg yelled loudly towards Catherine and Nick.

Both screwed up their faces, mouths opening in incomprehension. Shaking his head, Greg, bounced closer to them both, leaning in between them, close to their ears, to shout again.

Nick lifted his head in understanding, nodding with a grin.

"Bathroom I think," Nick responded stressing his words with a shrug.

Greg leaned in again, "What happened to Grissom then?" he shouted, before leaning back and pointing at the empty space beside Warrick at their table.

Catherine's face was a picture as she insinuated without any words at all just where she thought they might be! Raised eyebrows wiggling with her cheeky grin.

The boys just laughed, shaking their heads. No, not Sara and Griss, that whole thing that had gone on way, way to long for anything to happen between them now.

"Oh, Man, look at Warrick," Nick shouted, cocking his head in the direction of their dejected looking friend.

"I'll get him!" Cried Catherine, but Greg, grabbed her waist, sending her twirling around with him as Nick thanked Warrick's lucky stars and slipped off the dance floor towards him.

Arriving at the table, Nick, relieved to finally be able to hear himself think again, slid in next to Warrick.

"Hey 'Rick… not dancing?" Off Warrick's look he continued. "Okay… What happened to Griss?"

"Bathroom," came the close to monosyllabic response.

"Oh man, I'm sorry 'bout this party… Wanna slip outta here and find some of those strippers we talked about?" Nick's eyes flashed at the mention of ladies, trying to coax his friend either to deny his bad mood and come and dance, or admit what was troubling him, but Warrick didn't really respond.

"It's not the party, man…" Warrick tried half heartedly to explain, slapping his friends shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way, but then he seemed to run out of words.

"I'm good." He finally finished with. "I'm good. I'm just tired. It's been a long week, you know."

But he knew he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

_**0000000000**_

The look on Sara's face was an absolute picture.

Grissom checked her expression, his own eyes widening, but she didn't look too horrified and he took that as a good sign as he drew back from her and slowly turned to face the intruding interrupter.

The bouncer loomed over him, even in comparison to Grissom's six feet, he was a big guy.

"There's no loitering in the hallway," came the gruff voice, which matched the demeanour.

What didn't quite match the demeanour was the way that the big guy's mouth was twitching, as he tried to restrain the grin which threatened at trying to discipline too adults, especially one with greyer hair than his own, for behaving like a horny teenagers.

Hell, he didn't really want to tell them to go, they looked like they were just about to get to the good stuff and make up after the little spat they had been having. They had been a pretty good source of entertainment for him for the last few minutes; most of the folks passing by him had been disappointingly boring so far tonight. And as far as he was concerned the younger woman was gorgeous and the guy, he was one lucky son of a…! Even if their pairing, when viewed through outside eyes, seemed to be somewhat of an unlikely combination, there was a powerful connection between them and it certainly worked. And what was sweeter was the fact that both of them were blushing, whilst trying not to laugh as well.

But his boss would have his hide if he let them stay here, 'always keep the corridor clear and inviting… We don't have trouble here.' if he heard that one more time.

But he knew that these two weren't trouble, and they relented easily, the man grunting softly with embarrassed frustration, and the woman biting her lower lip to smother her laughter as they slipped away from one another with lingering fingers. The woman headed to the bathroom, and the guy back to the club. Both smiling at him in contrite apology.

A duo of smiles, which he returned with a nod. Hey, if those two could make it work, maybe there was hope for him and his own disastrous love life too.

He cleared his throat again, lumbering over to snag the forgotten cowboy hat, as the woman rushed back to take it from him, murmuring her thanks.

And then he turned, resetting the smile back to grouchy before he went right back to his job.

_**0000000000**_

Standing in front of the mirror in the ladies bathroom, Sara found herself examining her expression for at least the third time today.

She was beginning to feel uneasily vain about all this self-study. Although looking at the state of her right now, maybe she ought to look in the mirror a little more often.

She was rumpled, flushed, and more than a little smeared. She looked like she had just been taken to bed for a long lazy languid make-out session. And all without partaking in any of the really good elements of that sentence.

She closed her eyes with a sigh, throwing Nick's hat down as she leant on the cool marbled countertop bringing her face close enough to the chill glass to fog her image with a halo of hot breath.

The cool was good for her heated skin; she'd have pressed her whole body against it if she could.

Maybe that would calm her nerves and her heart and her trembles of anticipation!

Grissom had told her he wasn't leaving her.

That he thought things between them were working.

It was exactly what she had been waiting weeks to hear.

Hell, she'd waited years for something, anything, any words to clarify and define the relationship between them, and she'd finally heard them tonight and he had been doing wonderful things to her insides with just his fingertips on her scalp and still he hadn't been able to kiss her uninterrupted!!

Damn that bouncer!

Oh God!!

Not only had they been caught almost exploring each other in the hallway of a bar by a bouncer who had certainly found their compromising position highly amusing, but Grissom had suddenly somehow chosen tonight to develop a new magic way to read her!!

From the moment he had spoken her name in the hallway he had known that she had suspected he had deserted her again!

Ohhhh! She was so stupid!

And to make matters worse once the breath cloud on the mirror evaporated she was once again reminded of the complete disaster that blinked back at her, she had mascara and kohl all down her cheeks.

Lovely. Just great.

She'd cried like an idiot.

But on closer inspection there was something more. Something so striking that she was surprised she had missed it at first. There it was… a glimmer of something new under the smudges. Something alive.

She looked happy.

How long was it since she had looked that?

Dipping her face with a smile she began scrabbling in her back pocket, her fingers sliding over her keys, her cash, before she finally dragged out the only make up she had brought with her, a tube of lip gloss and a small concealer stick she used to try and smother the freckles into submission. And that, for her, was way more make up than she usually took with her when she left her apartment.

Luckily the bathroom had hot water and she managed to remove the streaks of her tears, and she looked a little better, well honestly… she actually looked almost as rumpled as before, but there was nothing else she could do. She couldn't ask Catherine for make-up or she would want to know why.

Then just at that moment that the thought crossed her mind, a woman crashed into the bathroom, moving at such a high speed that she was just a blonde blur right up until the moment she launched herself at Sara, crying, "There you are!"

Gasping for breath under Catherine's tight hug, Sara felt her eyes bug, as she was enveloped by an overwhelmingly sweet wave of perfume, fluffy black feathers and intoxicated and sugar filled breath.

Letting her loose Catherine babbled on manically, "We thought you and Grissom had snuck off to find yourselves a nice quiet and cosy clandestine corner to work out some of that famous tension of yours!" She laughed hysterically to herself as Sara's eyes widened and her mouth fell open in shock at Catherine's directness, before she started laughing too.

There was no way for Catherine to really know how close she came to the mark there.

She was drunk… and a terrible comedienne.

Sara let out her breath… Catherine was just teasing her. Of course… Catherine was teasing her. It was only the bouncer and a completely disinterested woman who had been given an eyeful of the most intimate moment that she had shared with Grissom so far!

Ahhhhhhhh!!

But others had seen them, after all it wasn't like she and Griss had been very 'clandestine' out there in the corridor. If it had taken the bouncer a tap on the shoulder and a low clearing of the throat to alert them to his presence then anyone could have seen them…

What was wrong with them! They were fully-grown, highly intelligent adults and still they were letting their emotions and a sea of raging hormones take control of them and completely wash out any real immediacy to the fact that they could so easily get caught!

She knew that Catherine hadn't seen anything, that she was just making a joke, a direct joke, a bad joke, but Sara was used to calmly accepting the teasing about her feelings for Grissom. She was no fool; she had seen their badly hidden sly glances when she and Grissom argued over a case. She had overheard her name being mentioned as she passed a doorway and then been the person who stopped conversations dead as she walked into the room. So she knew they talked about her.

It had sometimes been a relief in her lowest moments to draw comfort from the fact that others had noticed that there was something, an attraction, between her and Grissom. It had made her feel just a little bit less crazy on the days when she wasn't sure of anything between them. Wasn't sure of anything at all.

Yes, she realised the cliché here, that she was falling for the boss, and that there was a minefield of workplace politics out there, but apart from a few early offhand comments from the boys, no one had ever dared to question her about it directly.

Although Catherine was nothing if not direct, especially tonight, albeit aided by more than a little alcohol.

But Sara could play it cool. She could shrug her shoulders and laugh awkwardly in the way that she was expected too and look like she was joining in with the cool joke, playing the good sport, all the while laughing secretly inside about the real truth. It was actually pretty funny just how close Catherine had come without realising it. Just wait till she told Grissom about this one!

But it did say a lot about their past behaviour around one another, that the best jokes their friends could think up to wind them up involved them being together. It was actually funnier that whilst she and Grissom had thought they had been hiding their feelings, even from each other… that the others had been more aware of their feelings for one another than they had been.

Although it was pretty embarrassing to know that she had been focus of the whole groups attention, she'd spent her whole life trying to fade into the group, into the background. To not be the girl people talked about behind her back. It was just a shame that behaviour like that didn't stop when you graduated high school.

Oh, and the thought that the others had been a part of some kind of discussion tonight… Most likely a discussion started by Ms. Willows here. Catherine' had said 'we'… 'we thought…' Oh God… Mortifying! She had thought they had finally given up with the speculation where she and Griss were concerned. But Catherine's opening line was sounding more and more suspiciously like some kind of premeditated joke.

Oh God, if she left this bathroom to find all the others leaning against the wall outside, with huge grins on their faces, heaven help them… they'd learn what it was really like to be on the receiving end of a Sidle temper tantrum!

"But as you're here, I guess you're not then!" Catherine finished, breathless with laughter that overtook her again in a wave at Sara's attempt to control her expression.

Actually Sara was suddenly filled with a growing sense of indignation that the idea of her and Grissom being together in anyway was so amusing to Catherine. And even if the new developments weren't happening between them, it was pretty hurtful of Catherine to laugh at her, and her feelings like this. Maybe when she told Grissom about this little encounter she'd leave that part out.

But if it got them off the huge trail she and Grissom seemed to be leaving in their wake tonight maybe it was a good thing. And having such a delicious secret was a really good thing!

"Oh! But look at you! You can tell you don't wear make-up like this much. You must keep your hands away from your face!" Catherine admonished as she shook a finger vaguely in the direction of Sara's face, clucking in a motherly way as she threw her clutch bag onto the counter and began pulling out tubes and brushes and pallets.

Sara took a step back, lifting her hands in a universal 'back the hell off' motion.

But Catherine advanced regardless.

Oh God! She was going to make her look like a clown in this state… but there didn't seem to be anything she could do to stop her.

Closing her eyes she felt Catherine get to work, felt the smoothing of something cool, the flick of a brush, the teasing of something under her eyes.

"You know…" came Catherine's voice from a lot closer than she was used to. "You really are beautiful." She sighed a wave of sweetened breath over Sara's face. "Grissom is such a fool."

Sara would have gasped if she were sure that Catherine had intended for her to hear that. She really couldn't be sure that the other woman had known she had even spoken out loud. But that was a full one-eighty change from all her laughter a few minutes ago. Maybe drinking gave Catherine short-term memory loss.

"Ta da!"

Sara felt Catherine finally step back, and then felt herself guided over to the mirror again.

She took a breath and opened her eyes.

"See… nothing to worry about!" Catherine's reflection winked at her in the glass.

She really looked all right, much better than a few moments ago.

Sara's smile was small, and almost shy, "Thank you."

She really needn't have worried about Catherine's state of intoxication. She should have known. It was just that she hadn't remembered to figure in to her equation the fact that Catherine clearly could apply perfect make-up in her sleep. And she must have to on many occasions to be able to make it to work on time and still look so well manicured.

And even now, Catherine's make-up was still pristine. Although her talents at walking, and standing steady were becoming a little less convincing.

"Right, come on… let's go find the others and have another drink!" Catherine cried, grasping hold of Sara's arm and pulling her along behind her back in the direction of the bar.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition. BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_I also __**do not**__ own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge' I have also borrower several quotes in this chapter, all are italicised and either tagged in the story or anonymous. Also borrowed are the lyrics from 'Viva Las Vegas' by none other than Elvis The King!_

_**Author Notes**__: Oh My Goodness!! I saw the new trailer for season 9 and squealed. I want to watch it RIGHT NOW! _

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!_

_**Stars in Motion.**_

By Rianne.

_Chapter Twelve._

Dragged helplessly behind Catherine, Sara Sidle found herself hauled back into the darkness, the noise of the band finishing up their final song and the flashing lights of the main bar. But she didn't care. She couldn't help the smile that brimmed over. Couldn't fight the sweet waves of laughter she shared with Catherine as they weaved hand in hand through the dancers and drinkers milling around.

She felt good, she felt happy, and she might even admit… maybe just to herself, that she actually felt sexy.

There was a new, more confident swing to her hips, and as she began to notice the glances that she and the wild Ms. Willows were drawing from other patrons it dawned on her that for the first time actually felt okay about being, for lack of a better word, ogled.

She was newly quantified as 'off the market'!

It only increased her pleasure to realise that her brain had already given up its automatic 'size up' of the man behind the each smile as she had instinctively weighed each possible suitor's collective points against some pre-ordered list of credentials, one that didn't describe Gil Grissom at all… hmmmm… right! Of course it did.

She'd probably only known Gil Grissom about an hour, maybe two, before she started to hold every man she met up against him for comparison, and found them all depressingly weak. So far no man had managed to uphold her ideal, sometimes not even the great man himself.

But she could accept that this thing between her and Grissom, it wouldn't have been right for it to happen before now. Now was somehow just the perfect time. Their lives seemed to be segueing together so easily as if it had to be preordained, if such a thing as preordination existed, and the hopeful streak in her sure wanted it to be so.

It was a wonderful light feeling of relief to know that she didn't need to judge the men who smiled at her, or attempted to approach her, she no longer had to waste her time gauging their chances as a potential… well potential anything she'd previously thought her prospects had been so slim. It was extremely sad to think that she had been forced to think about relationships that way. That she had been that desperate and lonely for human connection.

And even better was the thought that she didn't need to endure those men whose terrible opening lines had made her gag whilst she bit back the reflex and forced her lips into a smile. Dating was officially torture.

But no, there was to be no more of that, now that she was happy, now that she was with someone, well working at being with him, these irritating shark-like men and their glances, their smiles, and their winks were nothing more than harmless, and she could finally accept them with the levity they deserved.

Flattery. Simple, albeit chauvinistic, flattery.

It was only when they were halfway across the floor that simple flattery turned into something more. At first Sara had to fight back the urge to double over with laughter when Catherine managed to stun not only Sara, but also the unlucky guy in question, when she caught a wandering hand. With a slap heard round Vegas Catherine prevented the motion, by capturing his hand just half an inch away from making contact with her backside. She'd almost crushed the guy's fingers as she had admonished him with a sultry shake of the head.

Okay… so maybe these losers were not quite so harmless, but in their flimsy justification neither she nor Catherine looked like they were trained in weapon-less defence, which of course they were.

The look on the guy's face, as he saw his 'manliness' factor droop ten points and his friends laughed so hard they practically wet themselves, made Sara feel almost sorry for him. But she didn't particularly like the way some of his friends were looking at her, or at Catherine.

Then when the guy, acting like a bear with a sore head, started arguing, trying to make out that it was Catherine who had the problem and then implied that in more than a few choice words, it was Sara who lunged for him, and Sara who would have crushed more than his hand if Catherine hadn't in turn pulled her away, and given her a minute to calm down.

"Leave it," Catherine had whispered harshly, before giving Sara her patented 'I've seen it all, and worse, before' smile.

Where did these kinds of men crawl from? That guy was certainly not 'all that' like he seemed to think he was. Disgusting pig.

It took her a moment or two to calm down, but she had finally let it go by the time they reached their table. Once there they found that their guys were all seated, waiting for them to return, and Grissom, seeming to feel her gaze on him lifted his head, his eyebrows raising with his smile, and she knew then just how lucky she was.

"Okay guys! What are you all drinking? My turn!" Catherine opened with. Starting to speak before they had even reached the table!

Warrick groaned, as did Grissom, both waving their hands against the idea.

"It's getting late," Warrick shrugged off Catherine's less than receptive look.

"Oh come on!" Nick, shook his head at them both. "Ignore the oldies here, it's like what…" he looked at his watch, "It's only 12.30am! It's a Saturday night! Well… Sunday morning! But it's all good!"

"I'm in," Greg announced bouncing his palm off the tabletop.

Nick turned to Grissom, watching him intently as his boss twisted his mouth in indecision.

"I'm in," Sara announced, before she literally threw her hat in the ring. She wasn't ready for tonight to end just yet.

Leaning over, she brushed against Grissom and was able to sneak him a quick encouraging look, as she threw Nick his hat back, although a large part of her wanted to keep that hat forever. Straightening again after Nick had re-adorned her with her flowered garland, she turned her smile full wattage and aimed it at Grissom.

"Alright," Grissom gave in. And it had nothing to do with Sara. Oh no, nothing at all!

"So that just leaves…" Catherine looked to Warrick as she spoke in a tone laced with faux wistful sadness. "I guess being a newlywed means you have to rush off home to the little lady, and forget all about your old friends…was nice knowing you..." she finished with a shrug.

"Fine!" Warrick growled. "One more drink."

"Excellent!" Nick cried! "Come on Greggo!"

The orders taken Nick and Greg headed over to the bar to sort it with Callie.

Grissom, shyly hitched himself over on the seat, creating a space for Sara to sit. Looking up at her with a gentle inviting smile as she lowered herself beside him. Oh it was almost too good to have a secret!

The guys returned with the drinks themselves.

Clearing his throat Nick remained standing, and then he tapped his glass with a spoon he seemed to have talked out of Callie.

"Okay, well… seen as our friend Warrick here decided to send traditions all to hell, I'm going to assume that I would have been his Best Man."

Warrick scoffed shaking his head.

"What? No way, man," Nick carried on, shaking his head back. "I _know_ I would have been your Best Man. I am, after all, the best man at this table."

The others groaned appreciatively.

"Thank you, thank you! So, to kick us back onto a more traditional path… I believe speeches are in order!"

Warrick shaking his head placed his forehead on the table. Grissom sympathetically patted his friend on the back.

"So," Nick continued, "Oh wait…. Can you all hear that?"

Faces around him creased in bemused confusion as Nick cupped a hand to his ear, his eyes darting about. They looked to one another, shaking their heads.

"It's still echoing!!" Nick carried on with his pantomime. "It's the desperate howl of a million heartbroken young ladies who have just learnt that Warrick Brown is off the market!"

They had to laugh, despite themselves. Bad. That was just bad.

"Even though our good friend, and my supposed best friend," He narrowed his eyes pointedly, "Warrick here, snubbed us, and swanned off and eloped, at a hotel just down the road no less, and didn't even tell us… we're all here tonight… well this fine morning… to wish you well. We love you, man!!" Nick laughed, dramatically clutching a hand to his chest!!

"To Warrick, and his new wife Tina! Who we would all like to _actually_ meet one of these days."

They all raised glasses, echoing, "To Warrick!" with a round of clinking glasses.

All, except Sara, gasped at the renewed burn of alcohol along their throats.

Warrick nodded, uncharacteristically shy, as he hugged his friend, patting his back awkwardly when the hug became a little too long!

"Speech…" Greg rumbled into his hand pretending to sneeze whilst looking pointedly in Warrick's direction.

"Oh… no… guys." Warrick tried to back out, and would have scrambled backwards over the seat if he had been able to. " Come on… I eloped to avoid all this…!"

"_If it weren't for the presents, an elopement would be preferable."_ Grissom's voice cut in.

All attention shifted away from Warrick and his discomfort to focus on Grissom.

"George Ade," Grissom tagged his quote with a nod.

"Hey, no one mentioned presents, were we supposed to bring a gift?" Sara questioned. "How long do I have to work here before I have to chip in for a present?!" Her smile was sly as she mimicked a long past joke of her own which had been slated, somewhat unfairly she felt, when she had last used it.

"Oh, I know your feminine sensibilities are terribly disappointed Sara, not getting to be the bridesmaid," Nick threw out, his head swaying with sympathy. "but I bet you'd have looked mighty fine in pink taffeta!"

He winked at her growl.

"But we also missed seeing you guys in penguin suits," Catherine countered grinning as she wiggled her brows at them suggestively. "Now that would have been mighty fine!"

"Ah, what can we say to that guys!" Greg deflected the compliment, and thoroughly accepted it too! His head nodding as his hands displayed his physique in all its finery! "The ladies just can't get enough!"

Both women present laughed and shook their heads their faces growing serious as Greg's mouth formed an 'O' of indignation.

Then, Warrick found himself right back in the limelight.

"No way, man, you aren't getting away with this one," Nick insisted, pointing at Warrick. "You've dodged enough these last few days, young man!"

"Young Man?" Warrick silently intoned, in disbelief, before he sighed and straightened his shoulders to prepare.

"Okay, okay…" he found himself stumbling a little with his words. "Thanks you guys, for coming…" He lifted his glass and toasted them in return.

What else could he say? He really wasn't sure if he was sorry they had missed the wedding. Sure he cared for them, and they were, in their own special ways, as close to him as a family, but it wouldn't have been the same with them there. He'd liked that his ceremony had been just him and Tina. It had been intimate and private. It had been his first real spur of the moment choice that had meant something. He hadn't wanted planning, and nervousness and fuss. He hadn't wanted to see the confusion in their eyes, or to hear them subtly questioning his choices, however well meant their words.

He'd just wanted to do something real, something that really meant something, just in case the world ended tomorrow and he never got the chance to be in control of his own destiny.

Yeah, that sounded romantic…

But he couldn't tell them what had really motivated his actions, not like he had told Catherine earlier. He couldn't say that, not with Nick in the same room.

Luckily he wasn't known as a man of many words, unless they were detailing a case or trading information about work, then he could talk down anyone. But any kind of emotional talk was a colossal pitfall for him. He could talk about things like that, was extremely good at it in fact, but the pressure and the stress that talking in those terms caused him was actually painful. Sweating, heart racing, all those ugly responses. Really he was just a big chicken…

"I…" he began again, his fingers twisting together around the plastic crown he had distractedly grasped in his hands.

"I'll go," Catherine cut in, whatever her issues with him right now, she was getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute watching him fidget like that. "A little quote that I heard in… some movie…" she waved her hands around trying to remember which one, but gave up and just quoted. _"Marriages are made in heaven…"_ she paused for effect, her voice turning wicked, _"But so are thunder, lightening, tornadoes and hail."_

Glasses clinked again, a faint flutter of amusement rippled amongst them as they wondered about the appropriateness of the quote, especially from Catherine, as Catherine herself muttered under her breath about wishing someone had told her that at her own wedding, such as it had been.

"I've got one. I've got one!" Greg almost bounced off his seat, _"The most happy marriage I can picture would be the union of a deaf man to a blind woman."_

They clinked glasses again, with a groan.

"What! That's Coleridge, you bunch of heathens!" Greg pouted.

"I've one," Nick announced. _"Love is not a matter of counting the years, it is making the years count."_ Oliver Wendell Holmes. Used that one in my last best man speech!"

"And how many times have you been a best man?" Catherine asked.

They waited whilst Nick counted up the weddings on his spread fingers.

"Seven." He finally tallied with a nod. "They're big on fancy wedding's where I come from!"

"_To love a person is to learn the song that is in their heart, and sing it to them when they have forgotten."_ Sara added to the collection. "Maid of Honour… twice."

"Awww, that one's nice!" Greg smiled at her from across the table, a little surprised at his friend revealing her mushy side, as Sara rolled her eyes to save face, but she had to admit that she liked that one too.

"I got another!" Greg leapt in, clearly having been waiting desperately for the conversation to lull a little so he could jump in.

"Um, Guys, this is getting a little bit…" Warrick tried to rein them in, but failed miserably, as out-quoting one another became something of a game!

Greg threw out:_ "To the world you might be one person, but to one person you might be the world."_

Another clink.

"_Love is like a butterfly,"_ Grissom's voice was quiet and drew attention. _"Hold it too tight and it will crush, Hold it too loose and it will fly."_

He spoke to the group but there was only one person he was really speaking to.

And she knew it.

Nick followed Grissom with: _"There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved"_ - George Sand. Wedding number… four. Hey, do I get extra credits for knowing who said it?!"

"NO!" Came the resounding chorus!

"Okay, okay," Grissom swayed to his feet, his glass in hand as the others quietened and tilted their faces up to watch him. "A little from Mark Twain."

Sara groaned, and he shot her a look of surprise.

"Sorry, slipped out," she pulled a silly face, and waved her hand to indicate for him to continue, as the others grinned.

_"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you did not do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."_

At that he lifted his glass silently and the others joined him, the resounding clink wonderfully loud.

"And on that note!" Catherine sighed, and then downed the rest of her glass, slamming it down on the table! Standing she began to gather her things together.

Warrick took a moment. Before reaching across to shake Grissom's hand. His eyes full of thanks. Trust Grissom to know exactly how to express just what he had wanted to say.

"Time to go," Catherine announced, as if her actions weren't clear enough. "So come on guys, pay up!"

Rummaging through wallets, purses and back pockets, they all formed a haphazard pile of bank notes on the table.

"Any idea how much all of this is going to cost?" Nick asked.

Eyes turned to Greg, who lifted a finger in the air in the universal sign for 'just one minute' before he dashed off and returned quickly with a bill, and wide eyes.

"Ouch! You guys can drink, huh?" Sara teased, grimacing, as she read the final total.

"And for that, Oh Sober One, you can count." Nick volleyed back, pushing the pile of money towards her.

It took a while, and a little arguing, over who had drunk the most, or the most expensive, but they finally managed to figure it all out and throw in a generous extra for their wonderful waitress.

"Speaking of Callie," Sara began, knocking her hip against Greg's, "do you need a lift home Greggo, or are you all sorted there?"

His cheeky grin didn't need any other clarification.

"Well then, say Goodnight to her for us!"

Shaking her head Sara allowed him to hug her gently and smiled charmed when he kissed her cheek, before he moved on to hug Catherine and then Nick and Warrick too. Yet when Greg came to Grissom he halted, uneasy a moment, before his face grew serious and he held out his hand towards his boss.

Sara let her attention pass between the pair, watching the interaction with interest. Watching as Grissom frowned, and then she laughed out loud as Grissom thoroughly surprised Greg and the others by pulling the youngest CSI into a hug.

See, that was why she was so crazy about him. The man was completely unpredictable, and she was rather enjoying this new affectionate Grissom. Although she wasn't entirely happy about having to share him with Greg!

_**0000000000**_

The sky was dark when they found their way back onto The Strip, but it was still warm. Muggy and close.

Limo's glided by them in mirrored streaks.

The casino lights flickered flashed and glimmered and people were out in force. It may actually have been quieter inside the club.

But the air around them hummed with even more excitement and anticipation than earlier.

Setting off at a reasonable pace Catherine tottered, Nick practically bounced and Warrick lagged behind.

Whilst Sara and Grissom trailed them all. Walking close, not speaking, but unable to pay attention to anything but one another.

Both were thinking, planning, considering, wondering.

"Where'd you park, Sar?" Warrick asked, turning his head back to speak to her, and forcing her to break her smile with Grissom.

"Multi-storey behind the Stardust."

Warrick nodded, he knew the place, and turned back leaving them to their preoccupation with one another.

"Oh, come on guys!" Nick turned too, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk, causing Sara to actually bump into the wall of his chest, with a gentle thump.

"Sorry!" She laughed as Nick grinned.

"Awww, Sar, if you wanted a hug you should have just asked for one." Nick teased, scooping her up, lifting her into the air. "Nicky!" she cried alarmed as he began spinning her in a circle. She looked to the others for help, but was being spun so fast she couldn't stress any SOS. Closing her eyes mortified, she did her best to pretend she was somewhere else, until he placed her carefully on her feet again. She slapped his chest, "Damn it, Nicky!" she cried pretending to be pissed as she wobbled adorably for a minute the world around her spinning.

Grissom watched from the sidelines. His mouth drawn helplessly into a flat line. It was stupid, but the green-eyed monster was lurking again. Turned out his mind was really good at expressing what he felt when he had a belly fully of whisky.

"What I was going to say before I was so pleasantly interrupted…" Nick winked at Sara. "Was that as it is still early, we should definitely go some place to eat."

No one answered.

"Coffee?"

That got a few headshakes and one No. But that didn't derail Nick, and in seconds he tried again.

"How about some more dancing," He looked to Sara and Catherine, jigging from side to side like he had a few of Grissom's lively mini beasts in his boxers. "Ladies?"

Catherine and Sara both smiled politely and then shook their heads softly.

"Rollercoaster, Griss? I bet Circus Circus is still running?"

Grissom's line remained firm.

"Warrick my friend, we never did find any of those strippers I promised you and Griss,"

Nick's eyes glittered with a hint of the devil as Grissom almost bit through his lower lip and he felt what he assumed were Sara's efforts not to tense beside him. Although part of that tickled his pride. Damn it Nick, now I've some explaining to do.

"Yeah, Gris? What's this about strippers?" Warrick deadpanned, his words almost swallowed by the huge yawn that followed them.

Grissom could feel Sara's attention fixated on him. Right on his temple. Burning through him as his cheeks filled with heat.

Just great…

Unable to withstand it any longer he tilted his face towards her, but found her smiling slyly, clearly amused that his telltale face glowed.

And even clearer was the fact that she was taking note that it was extremely easy to embarrass him.

Just great.

He opened his mouth to try and salvage what little was left of his self respect when Sara's voice surprised him. She never looked away from him as she spoke.

"I really do think it's time to call it a night, Nicky."

He hadn't expected that. He'd expected something far wittier. Or at least a subtle dig.

But this seemed like it was so much more.

He had to hope that there was another layer of meaning behind her words. Oh how he wanted it to mean something more. Something much more inviting.

There was definitely a glitter in her eyes. But for all he knew it was just a reflection from all the neon.

"Yeah. Bedtime, Nicky," Catherine confirmed. "Anyone'd think you didn't have a home to go to!" She smiled, reaching over to ruffle his hair and slip an arm about his shoulders, giving him a squeeze as she manoeuvred him around and on the move again.

_**0000000000**_

The stairwell was dirty, and dark. Barely illuminated by a worn out fluorescent tube which flickered on and off in a clicking, nausea inducing, rhythm.

"Sar, what are you doing parking in a place like this?" Warrick whispered gently to her, stopping her at the foot of the stairwell.

"What?"

"Uh oh." Catherine's voice drifted down from a few steps up, before it was smothered in a rumble of Nick's deeper giggles.

"It's just not the safest place to be in the dark, on your own." Warrick stressed a little louder, loosing his control over his voice, drawing the attention of the others.

He was tired. He was sick of Catherine and her parading about him. He just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep.

Yeah, he sounded like a newlywed all right. They did say the urge for sex died when you said 'I do.'

Sara lifted her chin in that defensive way she always did when she knew she was in the wrong but was going to stick to her side of things right until the bitter end.

"Oh, come on, it was still plenty light when I came here, and I'm not alone now, am I." She retorted. Letting her gaze flick sideways to meet that of Grissom's as the words 'not alone' left her lips. She couldn't help herself, she was drawn.

She saw the flicker of a smile in his eyes, and felt it, but then his expression turned quickly as sombre as Warrick's.

"Humour us patronising men folk." Grissom calmly added, pulling a silly face, diffusing the tension by lifting his palms in surrender, before his voice dipped lower as he whispered so only she could hear, "We only worry because we care."

Drawing back from her, he too caught the glimmer in her eyes at the word 'care'.

See this was easier than he'd thought! Being honest and open was simplicity itself! Well, with a bottle or so of booze in you, everything became easy it seemed!

"I can look after myself." Ha! Got the last word she thought, bizarrely triumphant.

The guys let it be. Warrick standing aside to let her up the steps first but she ignored him, waiting stubbornly until he finally took a step, before she deigned to follow behind.

As the others strode off, Sara and Grissom took their time, mounting the stairs side by side, not speaking, but letting their shoulders brush with each step. The backs of the hands bumping teasingly against one another's with each rise and fall of their bodies.

Now if only the others would just magically disappear and their surroundings would morph into something decidedly more sanitary…

Two flights of stairs later, Catherine was already complaining. Breaking off from Nick she angled herself in beside Warrick, her plotting badly disguised.

"These shoes, they aint made for walking." She tried with a flirty grin.

Warrick slowed, sucked his lower lip into his mouth for patience.

Oh how he longed for the return of his earlier buzz.

He tolerantly waited whilst she bent at the waist, fiddling with one of the straps around her ankle, blatantly showing him a less than subtle view right down her top.

With a widening flash of his eyes, he averted his gaze, reaching up a finger to scratch his eyebrow, just for something to do.

Grissom and Sara had closed the small distance and were waiting just steps under them, their faces looking alternately pale and tired in the unforgiving light.

"Only one more flight, I'm on level three." Sara tried to coax Catherine, with the tone one used with a petulant child.

Then Nick was stepping back down, "Up we go!" He cried, scooping Catherine around the middle and slinging her up and over his shoulder, fireman style.

Catherine's squeal filled the small space and echoed back around them in multiple.

"Nick, Jesus!" Sara gasped, hands rising frantically. "Oh God."

She almost closed her eyes, unwilling to look as Nick began to lope up the steps in wide strides, with Catherine hanging precariously over his shoulder, but found herself unable to look away. It was like watching a car crash about to happen, in torturous slow motion.

Catherine remained completely unfazed, her face swaying upside down over the steps, looking down at the floor, as she wiggled and cackled, delighted at the show of masculinity.

"Nicky, come on put her down." Sara tried again. Eyeing up the concrete floor and the huge drop over the edge of the dirty railing.

"Don't worry, I got her!" Nick's voice was so blasé Sara could have smacked him.

Warrick tried to get a firm grip around Catherine, but she was moving to quickly.

"Hey look, Sar! Two guys fighting over me!" Catherine shouted down to her laughing.

Sara looked desperately at Grissom, and almost smacked him too when she found him grinning beside her.

"Gris, do something!" she cried.

"Okay, okay," he muttered at least having the sense to look contrite.

He stumbled up the last few steps behind Catherine and Nick, and even his sweet bowlegs failed to bring back her smile.

Climbing quickly after them she watched as Grissom and Warrick managed to steer Nick and his precious cargo up the remaining steps and through the door into the open warehouse parking space.

Following them, Sara let the swing door to the stairwell slam heavily behind her. This, this was why drinking was not a good idea. Or why letting someone else be designated driver was.

She was suddenly very tired. Feeling oddly left out considering they were only steps apart.

Be honest, her mind taunted her. You just want to get them all home as quickly as possible so that you can somehow spend even a few minutes alone in the car just with Grissom.

She hated it when her damn conscience was right. Selfish, selfish Sara, doesn't like to share. Trying to control her suddenly bubbling temper she moved away from the group.

Leaving Grissom and Warrick to wrestle Catherine from Nick's grip, Sara stalked across the now empty space to her car. Her heels clicking echoes on the concrete floor and making her departure all the more dramatic.

Beeping the doors open she hauled the back one open before she turned back to them.

What she saw would have amused her, well it might have amused her, had she been drunk too, or in a slightly better mood. Less tired maybe.

Nick had finally lowered Catherine back to her feet, but was now dancing and spinning her around the open space of the car park floor… singing. Whilst Grissom and Warrick watched them, glancing occasionally in her own direction shrugging helplessly and looking sheepish while they tried not to laugh. Nick's renewed sense of humour and the ensuing amusement finally breaking through Warrick's grumpy resolve.

Sighing Sara slumped back against the car.

Just great, the chance of even a few more minutes of alone time with Grissom seemed to be drifting further and further away at this point.

Nick's voice, somehow managing to hold a tune, was floating over to her as he span, rocking his hips, in rhythm as he drawled:

"_Bright light city gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire_."

Oh God. Elvis.

"_Gotta whole lot of money that's ready to burn so get those stakes up higher. There's a thousand pretty women waiting out there. They're all living devil may care."_

Oh, she'd give him devil may care…

"_And I'm just a devil with love to spare_,"

Nick had almost reached Sara, Catherine dizzily clinging to his shoulders, and was just about to break into the infamous chorus when he reached the car. Letting go of Catherine, sending her spinning in her laugher straight into Warrick's chest, Nick came to halt before Sara holding out his palm in invitation.

"So Viva Las Vegassssssssss!"

He even wiggled his eyebrows at her. Crooner indeed.

She shook her head. Oh no. He was not getting out of this by being charming with his cheeky smile.

Oh no.

"Viva Las Vegasssssssssssssssssssss!"

"Get in the car." She forced herself to be harsh, narrowed her eyes. Damn him, it was working, her smile was already fighting to break and that would be extremely damaging her angry frown. "Nicky," the warning in her tone was crystal clear. "Get in the car… or so help me!"

"Viva… Viva… Las Vegassssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!"

Laughing, obliviously happy, Nick threw his arms dramatically into the air for his last note, before he caught Sara's face in his palms, placed a forceful kiss on her forehead and then quickly and obediently slipped past her, scrambling into the back seat.

It took less time than she had thought to settle the others. Catherine and Warrick joining Nick in the back whilst Grissom appointed himself shotgun.

The first rev of her engine was sweet music to her ears.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (some may have a slight hangover…). BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_**Author Notes**__: Oh My Goodness!! I saw the new trailer for season 9 and squealed. I want to watch it RIGHT NOW! So to pass the waiting time I wrote two new stories – kind of companion pieces (called For Sara and For Grissom) and I would like to thank everyone who read, reviewed and PM'd me about them! Your words are so precious to me._

_Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this too!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!_

I am so sorry this latest chapter is so delayed. (and I'd like to Thank Anne who PM'd to say Hi and check I was still out there!!) I'm just back from a week sunning myself in the beautiful Balearic Islands, and am still all lazy and on holiday mode!! But I had the chapter half done before I left and have finally finished it!! So please forgive and thank you for your patience!!

xXx

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter Thirteen._ (uh oh…)

As she drove Sara waited, calmly counting down the seconds, as she manoeuvred her car around the complicated maze that was the exit ramp of the car park. The screech of tyres and breaks echoing loud in the low ceilinged space.

And then it came.

A drawled, "Thank you… Thank you very much."

Damn it she should have placed good money on Nick saying that! She just knew he wouldn't be able to resist that corny line!

The others merely groaned. Someone may have swatted Nick with something, hand, handbag, something!

"Hey, behave back there," Sara warned, flicking her glance to the rear-view mirror, and the three troublemakers squashed together in the back seat.

Sandwiched together they swayed and leaned into some serious personal space back there as the car spiralled down through the storeys. Having sat in the back of a Tahoe with the guys on several occasions she knew just how broad those two were up close, but Catherine was certainly overdoing it with the practically jumping between their laps dance she was doing.

Brought a whole new meaning to the phrase, 'objects in your rear-view mirror may be closer than they appear!'

Catherine damned well better be wearing a seat belt back there.

She could just picture being pulled over for that, the traffic officer would be knocked over by the wave of booze that would surround him the moment she wound down the window. It smelt like happy hour in her car right now. But at least _her_ breathalyser wouldn't be 0.9 this time. She had that on her side.

Slipping out of the floodlit parking facility she immediately slipped off into the secret side roads of the Vegas local. Gliding as far away from the noise and lights of the grid locked Strip as she could.

Nick's stupid singing was rolling through her head. The urge to hum was driving her crazy. 'Viva…..!!' Damn it!

In the back the conversation was rumbling over Greg and his new girlfriend. Nice comments, it made a pleasant change to hear them talking of Greg in a way which was complimentary. She knew they all cared for him as much as she did, well at least a portion of how much she did, but they usually showed their feelings in a typical High School jock fashion.

Lets face it, sometimes they verbally slapped him around, sucks to be the youngest, and sweet guy that he was he just smiled and took it at lot more often than he should. It took a lot to dent that guy's joie de vivre. She was so tempted right now to surreptitiously call Greg's number and sit her phone on the dash and let him listen in to the conversation. Although, the sudden thought of what a call like that might be interrupting, a flash she didn't need of what little Greggo was most certainly getting up to right now put paid to that plan as she blinked to clear the images from her brain with a little shake.

"And," Nick announced slightly louder to make sure he had the attention of both women in the car, "Greggo wasn't the only one with a surprise lady friend tonight."

Sara's brain froze. Her finger grip tightened on the wheel, her eyes widened and she found she couldn't blink even as she brightness of the streetlamps flared.

Whoa, what?!

Finding the ability to control her eyelids again, Sara flashed her attention to the rear-view to see Catherine staring expectantly at Nick, but Nick was shaking his head.

"Nope… try again!" He laughed, gesturing like a game show host, it must be the accent she thought distractedly, before she realised that Nick was frantically pointing at the back of Grissom's head.

Grissom's brain went on high alert.

Sara saw the road before her curve when she knew it hadn't a moment before.

Oh God!! How did Nick know?!

"Hey, Sar?" Warrick's voice came floating over her left shoulder, "weren't we supposed to take that last left?"

"Shortcut," she heard the words, heard how confident, and even snarky she sounded, but she had no idea how she had managed to think quickly enough to say them.

Focus woman.

Come on. Driving. Gas. Break. Road.

But all her mind was screaming was Grissom, was how obvious they had been behaving, longing looks, intimate caresses, he'd backed her into the wall for goodness sake.

And she'd loved it!! Way more than was sensible, but she'd loved it!

This was her karma for being sneaky!

Even the fear that they had indeed been busted was twinged with tingles of anticipation.

Her hands were trembling, and even worse she could see them trembling, right before her on the wheel.

And even worse than that she could feel Grissom's penetrating gaze on her, see him shifting awkwardly in his seat beside her.

He was acting guilty. Making it even more obvious.

"What? Griss?!" Catherine's surprise was painfully clear.

Suddenly the heat of Grissom's gaze was off Sara's face as he twisted round in the chair to look sharply round at Nick.

Relieved of his intensity Sara bit her lip to try and slow her breathing.

She could see him shaking his head. He was denying it. Denying that they were together, it was what they wanted of course, but it was still a pang in her belly.

"No… no no."

She could barely hear his mumbled rebuff.

Yet Grissom could hear the word NO screaming around in his own head.

He could also see himself chasing Nick Stokes with something blunt and heavy…

But Nick was still grinning, you could see the streetlights gleam refracting back from his Cheshire cat grin.

"The evidence doesn't lie, Gil Grissom." Catherine taunted.

"And how old was the nice mystery lady, Gris?"

Nick was going to loose his life, Grissom thought, his glare clearly had VETO written across it in bright pink neon.

Sara's palms were beginning to sweat a little. She longed to lean over and flick the air-con up higher, but that would involve adding another task to her already multitasking brain and she wasn't sure she could handle that.

"She was a little younger than you, wasn't she Griss, a decade, maybe more?" Nick continued.

"No. Way!" Catherine's laughter cut the air.

Sara's mind screamed. It was true!

Oh God… they knew!! They know!!

Breathe Sidle.

Drive.

"Way." Nick was nodding. "And," He emphasised. "She was _Fine_ too!"

The crack as Nick slapped Grissom's shoulder resounded around the interior of the car.

Sara's cheeks blushed. It was nice to know they thought that about her, a little weird really, but nice. Maybe they didn't think she was just one of the boys after all.

But why weren't they just asking directly if she and Grissom were together?

She was enjoying all this secrecy, she really was, but would telling them be so bad? They didn't look like they were unhappy about it all. Circumstances had made these people their closest friends. This was the kind of thing you shared with your closest friends. Right?

No, it wouldn't be so bad… but keeping the secret wasn't so bad either…

It was really nice having something personal and private and sweet to think about. To share a look and have that lovely intimate warmth flood your belly.

And it was still really early; it was all so new to them. It was still shakingly getting off the ground. What if they told and then it crashed and burned. She could just imagine the looks, the pity, and the awkwardness bounding around the break room.

"So Griss, what was the red head's name again…? Rebecca was it?" Nick queried, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Red head…? Rebecca?! Whoa… Wait a minute…

Sara's head snapped towards Grissom, mouth falling open, pain searing her breast.

His eyes were wild, his head jerking frantically from side to side, pleadingly.

"SARA!"

Warrick's voice cut sharply and violently through the chaos in her brain.

There was a violent screech.

It all happened so fast she really had no idea what was happening.

Not until it was all over and she came swimming dizzily back to herself.

Found she was sitting dazed and panting, she was in her car, her mouth lax, her heart exploding in her chest.

She had somehow managed to slam her foot on the breaks just in time.

The car flying across the junction in front of them, the car with the right of way, had zoomed by them like a lightning bolt passing inches from the front of her car, horn blaring.

Now it was quiet all she could hear was her heart.

All she could feel was her heart.

She was crying, she must be crying, her cheeks were wet.

It was like living in slow motion for a while.

Grissom was trying to touch her, and she was shoving him away. Fighting him off.

Then she was being helped out of the car and against the solid chest of Warrick, feeling the protective soothing strength of his heavy arms, as she trembled like a leaf, knowing that her knees were jelly.

Behind her she could hear Catherine break into hysterical laughter. She sounded delighted. Nerves and stress reactions did weird things to some people. She sounded like the blood pounding around her body was beating with adrenaline and pleasure, not the cold chills of shock and fear that crawled through her own body.

If she had been able to think Sara would have been able to chalk Catherine's reaction to the same responses she felt, both women instinctively resorting to modes of self-preservation, but Sara wasn't in any fit state to think of others right now.

Warrick's fingers were sliding gently, rhythmically, over her upper arms. Trying to calm her.

She took a deep breath, leaning back away from Warrick to give herself space to swipe the tears from her cheeks. God, she was crying. How embarrassing.

Mortifying yourself again Sara Sidle. Such is the pattern.

Warrick was whispering to her, but she couldn't focus on his words.

All she could hear was Nick's voice echoing the name 'Rebecca' round and round in her head. She had almost crashed her car and seriously injured all five of them and all she could think about was the idea that she might have been Grissom's second choice tonight.

He'd been with someone else before she arrived.

And here she had been so happy, so excited.

Foolish, that was a better word for her.

Naïve.

Duped again into thinking he wanted to be with her. Wanted to date her, kiss her, touch her.

It was happening again. The bottom was falling out of her dreams.

And there was no way to hide how powerfully this news had affected her. She'd almost killed them all… Oh God!

There had been someone else. Another woman.

Maybe he'd tried it with this Rebecca, been shot down and drunkenly just moved right on to someone who he knew was always receptive to him. Who he had already had the chance to lay the groundwork with.

Some one easy. Someone he could pursue without the fear of possible rejection.

He was clearly having a life crisis, after all that had happened with Nick it wasn't surprising, the personality changes, going out drinking with the guys, he was suddenly brave enough to be asking her out, and she had just been the one foolish enough to think she was the only one he was asking out, the only one he was dating.

Sure he had told her all those things, told her he cared, told her he wasn't going to leave, but had he simply been telling her what he knew she wanted to hear?

She wanted to be able to reassure herself. To know with complete certainty that Grissom cared only for her, but she just didn't know that.

The look on his face when he had been outed had been terrified. Caught.

He had looked more scared than she had seen him in a long time. There was something to this.

She'd missed the signs with Hank, and she hadn't been blinded by her emotions for that man, what was to say that she wasn't being just as blinkered, and quite possibly more so, when it came to Grissom?

Nick was out of the car now, coming over to rub his hand on her back, his concern showing through his blurry eyes, as he had come round from the initial stunned laughter and realised just how upset she was.

By the car, feeling helpless, guilty and rejected Grissom watched the other two men try and comfort and calm Sara.

She'd pushed him away. It was all his fault. His blood whooshed around his body spreading a painful heart-stopping wave of chill through him. She had almost driven straight into that other car. Could have killed them all. And, it was all his fault.

Over Nick's shoulder, and through the blur of shellshock, Sara could see him.

Grissom was peering at her over the top of the car, she could see his shape lurking. He was afraid to come over. Was he afraid because of what he had done, or afraid because he had been caught, or just afraid of how angry he guessed she might be? It didn't look like he wanted to find out…

That look was definitely one of 'brooding man.'

Then she met his gaze and her breath caught tight in her throat.

Then he was coming over. The determination in his stride sending shivers down her spine.

Oh God. She couldn't think. She turned her face.

He was by her side. His intensely warm hand was encircling her upper arm tightly.

Then he was guiding her with forced calm away from the other two. He led her to the side of the road, into a pool of shadow between the blazing street lamps, creating a guarded distance from the others with the intention of talking without being overheard.

She couldn't fight him. Couldn't look at him.

"Sara," His voice was quiet and gruff. "Are you okay?"

His hand was trembling where it still pressed against the bare skin of her arm. The very same arm that he had been erotically caressing what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Sara?" It was practically a growl.

She didn't respond to him. She was in shock. Her skin was chill to the touch.

It was like crouching with her in the car park at the lab after it had exploded all over again.

That very same fear helped his heart to keep beating so fast.

Her eyes were heavy and unfocused. She was swaying in his grip. He was fighting down the urge to shake her vigorously.

"Sara, honey…?"

The pain in his voice was tugging at her, she found her eyes drawn upwards to look at him.

Her vision was spinning in from the vortex of motion. His voice was drawing her focus again, she was able to make out his face, the beard, the lips, his nose, blue eyes, but all were swimming and wavering.

That one word. It captured her attention last time, and here it seemed to be working again.

Their gaze met and realized.

Her stomach fluttered sharply.

He looked terrified. The shadows playing across his face made him look dark and serious and frightening.

His grip tightened on her arm.

"Sara," He was sounding more urgent now. "Sara, please… Are you alright?"

His hands were moving over her arms, in a more frantic way than Warrick. His palms lifted, cupping her cheeks gently, tilting her face up to him, his fingertips sliding into her hair caressing, checking her.

In a trance she let him touch, just wavered before him blinking.

She leant into him surrenderously, yet moments ago she had been pushing him away.

He was brushing away the remaining traces of her tears.

She shouldn't let him do this. She shouldn't let him break her heart all over again.

But she just couldn't help herself.

The others must be staring behind her, wondering what was going on, curious that they could only see her back, but he had her face so tightly between his palms that she couldn't even turn her head.

"Sara."

He was speaking again, the words pouring out of him in an endless seeming stream.

"Sara, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. They were just teasing me. They shouldn't have been distracting you when you had to drive. They were joking. They don't realise the impact of their meaningless words. It was nothing, nothing at all. This woman just started talking to me earlier and I turned her down. I don't want her, I didn't want her. I want you."

He was babbling, he was panicking. His flexing fingers gently coaxing desperately to see the clouds break in her vision.

"I didn't even know why she was talking to me. Women don't do that. They never did. I stood there humiliating myself like an idiot, and to make matters worse they had seen me. The whole table had seen me, seen me get hit on and not know what to do, seen me not know how to escape the situation, for some reason I really didn't want to hurt her feelings, and she was a stranger, but I told her. I told her I was taken. I told her I was with someone. With you, and I really hoped that they wouldn't tell you. Not because I wanted to hide it, because it was nothing, but because… because I wanted…

I wanted to look…"

He shrugged his shoulders, never letting his hands fall from her face.

"I guess I wanted to look good where you were concerned, I wanted to look good when I saw you, I wanted you to see me, notice me, over all of those young, successful men, and I just ended up looking like an idiot, just like I always do. Oh God, I shouldn't drink, it makes me say so many things… I know they need saying, but…"

He gave her a smile, vulnerable and openhearted. Trying to get a return one.

She barely blinked, but she was listening.

"I was so nervous when I first saw you tonight. I wanted you to be there. I had been thinking of you. I didn't think that you were coming. I was so… I couldn't believe it when you were suddenly just there. Oh, God. You could have been really hurt. The car, it only just…I'm so sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry."

He leaned forward pressing his forehead to hers.

His breath waved over her face, warming and intimate.

She was waking up. She was stirring. His touch and his breath bringing her round.

She was forgiving him. She could feel it. She could feel it deep in the curve of her belly.

His words were soothing her worries, were easing the pain of her own shaky self-confidence. She was always leaping right to the defensive. She'd always found she had to be. She didn't want to be anymore.

She wanted to trust him.

Reaching out she pressed her palms to his chest. She was trying to calm him now, trying to reassure him.

Yet all she could think was that she could feel him. Feel the man underneath the crisp cotton. Feel the rapid heartbeat and the fear and confusion coming off him in waves.

"You're still shaking," He whispered. Much closer now. His lips moving, soft and dangerously close to hers.

This, this was not discrete; this was not keeping their burgeoning attraction between them and private.

She took a careful step back, easing away, finding his gaze again, nodding gently.

"I'm okay. It's okay."

Was that her tremulous whisper?

She saw the breath escape him as she finally found her voice again.

He was calming too. Straightening his back. Slacking his hold on her.

Finally released she was able to look back. She turned slowly, turned to face the music.

Warrick was leaning against the car, Nick, sitting sideways in the open backseat. His feet on the ground.

They weren't watching. Whether to allow privacy, or just out of disinterest, either way, they weren't watching. Maybe their view had been obscured by the shadows, maybe looking at her back had bored them.

Or maybe they were just glad that Grissom was calming her so they didn't have to.

Oh, who did she think she was kidding, if Catherine's words earlier had told her anything it was that they expected to find her and Grissom involved in someway.

They were most likely not watching as they thought they were interrupting.

She started to walk towards them, feeling Grissom shadowing her movements, so closely she could still feel his body heat.

Protective man, usually that would rile her no end, but tonight she said nothing.

The trio at the car all looked pretty sheepish. Their apologies began before she got within about five feet of them. Their words washed over her in a wave of we're sorry's, of we didn't mean to distract you's. Nick slipping, clearly not hearing his own words, even apologised for telling her Grissom was with another woman. Something she chose not to respond to.

Oh God, and she'd left her car right in the middle of the street.

Hopefully they would all be too hung over in the morning and feel too self piteous to even remember this little glitch. Hopefully it will all be a blur to them.

"Will you be alright to drive?" Grissom asked her.

"Gotta get right back on the horse." She replied, fake smile plastered all over her face as she worked at diverting her nervous gaze from his prying eyes, surreptitiously clenching her hands into fists to control the roll of uneasiness.

Even her knees trembled as she settled back into the drivers seat, but she covered it as best she could.

The car jerked a little as she set off, but no one commented.

The final leg of the journey to Warrick's place was undergone in relative silence.

She drove so slowly she felt like she was crawling, they probably could have walked faster, but she was taking no more chances.

Sensibilities gradually returning meant that no one commented about that either.

But he was still watching her.

Reaching Warrick's Sara pulled to the curb and cut the engine.

She let her eyes close a moment in relief. Her trembles had finally subsided but all the excitement had left her pretty tired.

Awkwardness was returning amongst them.

Warrick, shifted in his seat.

He cleared his throat, "Guys," He shrugged, embarrassed.

"Thanks… you know." He shrugged again, dipping his head almost shyly. "You guys are the best."

Nick laughed, "We know!"

Shaking his head Warrick leant over, reaching into the front seat to shake Grissom's hand with a slap.

Then he and Nick also exchanged a hearty handshake, before Nick suddenly dragged him halfway across the car, right over Catherine's lap, for a real hug.

Awkwardly widening his eyes, Warrick backed away, laughing slyly, before he paused by Catherine.

The tension between them flared again.

"Night," he heard her whisper, as she forced the corners of her lips up. Then she was leaning forward and he felt her lips make gentle contact with his cheek.

Oh boy, this wasn't painful. Oh no.

"Night," he intoned, for lack of anything else to say.

Then he fixed each remaining member of his team with a forceful look.

"Right you three." He warned. "None of you better mess with Ms. Sidle you hear. You behave… or you'll have me to answer too."

Nick snorted, but was quickly silenced.

Leaning over into the front again, Warrick affectionately kissed Sara's cheek and whispered, "Call me if they give you any trouble," as he withdrew and then he was climbing from the car.

"Hey, 'Rick!" He turned at the voice to see his plastic crown come frizbeeing up the path towards him.

With catlike reflexes he really would have denied he possessed he caught the offending novelty item, to a highly amused cheer from the cars occupants.

With a much-deserved bow he saluted them one final time before turning and slunking up his drive, dragging his keys from his pocket as he heard the car re-start and pull away.

Stepping inside he was embraced by a wave of quiet.

His place was a mess. Boxes of Tina's stuff lined the entrance way.

Whoa wait. He'd called it his place again. THEIR place. _Their_ place. God if he slipped with that again in her presence he doubted she'd forgive him so easily this time.

He was sure the apartment had been much bigger before she had moved in with him. Right now in the dark and with all the boxes it felt miniscule, suffocating, claustrophobic.

The front of his foot caught something on the floor as he tried to make his way to the kitchen area. He stumbled sharply, his shin making contact with something he couldn't quite make out in the shadows, but the curse that broke from his lips was pretty clear.

He curled his toes, gasping, before he kicked the offending item hard in a burst of anger.

Then with a heavy sigh he wearily began to shed his clothes, letting each item fall to the floor, kicking his shoes to join them. Tina would probably have words to say about that in the morning, but what did he care. She'd left her stuff all over the floor in here, what difference would some of his thrown in there for good measure make?

Oh he wasn't marking his territory, oh no.

It was a little surreal. Him. Married. Who would have thought that he, bachelor extraordinaire would be the only married one amongst his friends!

Reaching the bedroom he was surprised to see a figure curled up in his bed.

Tina.

She was home. And through some crazy twist of fate his tumbling routine hadn't managed to wake her. He'd thought she was still at the hospital. Or at least out with girl friends.

He paused in the doorway, watched her breathe.

He was a newly wed, he should be jumping into bed, raring to go.

He looked down at his naked self and all he could muster was a shiver.

Moving over to the bed he sat cautiously on the edge, feeling the mattress sink under his weight.

She still didn't move.

Lifting the sheet carefully he slid under the soft material. Her sheets, they were soft and silky, made his bed feel like a strangers.

He stretched out.

She murmured beside him, instinctively searching out the new source of heat in her sleep.

Her arms slipped slowly around him with motions of a somnambulist. Lazy and gentle. Her nose nuzzled his chest as she settled into him.

Looking down at her in surprise he studied her. She looked different in this light, beautiful, but unfamiliar.

"How was your night?" Her voice was a feather soft whisper. She didn't open her eyes.

She was awake.

His mouth opened a few times, as his brain tossed about ideas for a response.

"I missed you." He finally came back with, the words sounded genuine enough from his lips.

He watched as a car passed on the street and the headlamps made rippling motions across the ceiling.

"Go back to sleep," He reassured, pressing a light kiss to her hair.

But she was already gone.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Disclaimer:**__All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (some may have a slight hangover…). BUT until I'm given Season 9 to entertain me, they are mine to play with… as I like…_

_The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion'._

_**Author Notes**__: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this too!! Especially those who are STILL taking the time to review and all the new people who take the time to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!! THANK YOU!!_

Stars In Motion.

By Rianne.

_**Chapter Fourteen.**_

It was getting closer.

The moment when he would have to leave the car, leave his friends; step out into the night air.

Walk up the quiet and deserted path.

Lonely. Alone. It had never really bothered him before. He'd always had his family, his friends, and a string of pretty women.

But now…

He'd twist his key in the lock, he'd ignore the way the door creaked open loud in the silence, not so subtly reminding him of all the household maintenance he was weeks behind on.

Just another thing he was slipping with. He'd made a list, but there was so much else to do. Time seemed to slip away faster when you were aware of just how precious each minute was.

Aware of how his control was slipping.

Then he'd step inside, unwelcomed by the silence. Instinctively reach for the lights.

Then he'd hear it. Hear the whir of his ceiling fans kick in.

There was no way to stop them humming to life. They were automatic, came alive in union with the light bulbs flare, and for some reason, every damn time he forgot. He reached instinctively into the darkness out of habit and routine and turned the main lights before he could think to stop himself.

Then at the first wave of the sound the memories would come, triggered, crashing and heavy black.

He'd been living by torchlight and lamplight for the last few weeks. Stumbling about half blind by TV glow and fridge glow and moonlight.

He couldn't stand to hear those fans whir.

Couldn't stand to be in complete darkness either.

Thank goodness he worked nights, his crazy schedule gave the oddly comfortable excuse to sleep in the day.

Attempt to sleep.

Mainly to laze and doze fitfully by the protective, illuminating light of the sun.

But it made a difference to the short moments when he did find rest to open his eyes to sunlight and not a vast expanse of jet-black darkness.

He'd dress as the sun went down, sluggish and nowhere near ready to start, unwilling to go and reluctant to stay.

Living his life in the shadows.

Work at night was now habitual, ritual, regular as the clock; there was something comforting and safe in the ample blue glow and familiar surroundings and routines of the Lab.

There were others there. That was what it all boiled down too. Familiar faces.

Not that he'd ever be able to voice it to those whose mere presence fought off the clutching, vice-like fingers of his demons, but he was thankful.

And he needed to get those ceiling fans replaced. And soon.

Soon, before he rippled them down from his ceiling with his own bare hands.

Forget the rolling Las Vegas heat; he'd get some small air con units. To hell with saving energy and the earth, he'd recycle more instead.

But he would do anything to get some rest. It was becoming a daily struggle to lay claim to, a natural sustenance like water and food and yet his body fought it.

He was so tired, but sleep wasn't sleep when it came, it was terrors.

But he was so very tired.

It was a different kind of tired than it used to be.

It was no longer the weary of the double or triple shift. No this tired was the bone ache and headache and heartache of the traumatised. This tired was of the broken, couldn't be fixed by a few days rest or a time with sleeping pills.

It dulled the eyes and the brain and slowly killed the humanity in you.

But he couldn't admit to that. Couldn't tell anyone.

They'd know then that he wasn't strong. That he had lost his energy, his humour, his emotional strength.

They'd know then that he was going slowly crazy, there would be more hospital, more pills, more looks of pity and he didn't need that.

He was fine.

He just didn't want to go home alone right now. He couldn't do it.

He was grasping desperately and ineffectively at straws, at thin air, at anything.

Yet he had to go home, it was inevitable, he had to go at some time. He couldn't keep trying to entangle himself in the lives of his friends. Warrick was a husband now, Catherine had Lindsay, and Grissom and Sara were creatures of private habits.

He had tried his best, he'd tempted and taunted, and pleaded with every excuse he could think of, but his friends were tired, and he understood, he felt their longing for their own comfortable beds and homes and sleep-time routines.

Just like he did.

But he longed for a sleep-routine from a million years ago, before the darkness, the fan, the insects, and the dirt.

He was overstaying his welcome, he could see it in their eyes.

But he was drowning inside.

Think man, think fast.

0000000000

"Here we go Nicky," Sara's soft and lazy voice called to him as she slid the car to the curb by his place.

The darkened windows of number three did nothing to invite, the surrounding apartments black too, dark and empty.

Or full of those who possessed the enviable power to sleep peacefully.

Turning back to the others, dragging his eyes from his unwelcoming home with ease, he leant forward placing a gentle palm on Sara's shoulder, dipping his head by hers so he could whisper to her. Lips level with her ear he began murmuring his apologies for distracting her earlier, watching mildly curious, as the curve of her cheek by his nose blushed gently at the mention. She moved back from him, turning her face away, but he caught her rolling her eyes and biting her lip quite clearly in the reflective surface of the car window.

He simply put her reaction down to embarrassment, she was ashamed that the usually controlled Sara Sidle had allowed that precious command of her faculties slip, that she was upset with herself for not managing to maintain her usual tough girl façade, the one everyone saw right through to the sweet heart beneath. That was the reason they all adored her.

In reality she was ducking away from the intensely focused expression on Grissom's face.

He was taunting her, she could practically see him counting the seconds down till they would be rid of these two interferences they calmly called friends. He was teasing her, easily able to lip read Nick's whispered words, and he very slowly crossed his eyes at the half drunken, half slurred apology. He looked ready to drag the younger man out if the car by his ear if he thought it would make his exit any quicker. Yet the smile her gave her, which was followed by a sly wink, was gently underwritten by a soft scoring of concern and affection. He knew he had a lot of ground to make up with her over the whole 'red head Rebecca' misunderstanding and he planned to have some fun doing that!

Biting her lip she had just had to look away, rolling her eyes in an attempt to smother the laughter.

There was that flare of pleasurable secret warming them again, a subtle understanding between herself and Grissom that she had thought they had long lost.

Leaning back to Sara and kissing her flushed cheek, Nick slapped Grissom's shoulder and kissed Catherine's cheek too before saying his goodnights as he let his palm come down on the handle.

Nick opened the car door as if he was forcing some old world heavy wooden portcullis, unprepared to take on the night and all its shadows.

He let each foot land heavily on the curb. Hoisting his body after them. Stretching his arms up to the sky, in a long growling extension.

Leaving the back door open he reached into his back pockets fumbling for his keys. He felt the immediately recognisable metal sharp of them in his front hip pocket, but he avoided that one as a new surge of purpose dawned.

He creased his forehead into a frown, watching Catherine lean towards him across the back seat, and Sara lean on the driver's window switch, slowly revealing her with the hum and glide of the electric motor.

Good they were paying attention.

"You okay, Nicky?" Sara asked once the glass had disappeared into its slot in the car door.

"Keys," he mumbled, dragging the contents of his pockets out into his hands, phone, gum, wallet, spare change.

Sara flicked her eyes again to Grissom's.

He was leaning on his hand, elbow on the door, his finger brushing across his lips, the epitome of impatience.

Her belly flared with a sudden rush of nervous anticipation. She'd be dropping him off last…

Distracted by the sweeping motion she focused only on that finger and its caressing for a moment before Nick cursed behind her and she shook the vivid daydreams from her head with a short jerk which she saw didn't go unnoticed by Grissom.

"Where'd you have them last?" she asked turning back to Nick, her rapidly shortening temper clipping her words.

Juggling with the collection of items in his hands Nick, shook his head before he finally answered, "I don't know. The Lab, maybe?"

Sara closed her eyes, letting the darkness reset her calm.

"Are you sure they aren't there somewhere?"

This was just not amusing.

He shook his head, wishing he could cross his fingers against the lie without her seeing. He didn't like lying to his friends.

He was digging himself his own hole, and he'd really no call for another one of those, but he had felt that roaring deluge of panic well up in him the moment his apartment had come into view. Had felt the wave build, ready to crest from the moment Sara's car had turned onto his street.

He had to fight it, had to take back control over his own life somehow.

"Right, come on." Sara, jerked her thumb sharply at the back seat. "Get in. We'll swing by the Lab."

They all knew that the Lab was a good twenty-minute ride back the way they just came.

In the passenger seat Grissom shifted, awkwardly.

As the only other guy he knew he should offer Nick a place to stay. That would save Sara from driving all the way back to the Lab for keys that Nick could have dropped anywhere.

And he had a couch. A small lumpy, grumpy old thing, but it was a couch, and it was available… He had slept on it often enough himself when he had been too tired to crawl the extra few foot to the comfort of his bed.

Yet he really couldn't bring himself to open his mouth and make the offer. Politeness dictated that he should, but every other part of his being, some more potently than others, begged him to keep his mouth closed.

Moments ago they had only had Catherine to drop off, which wasn't more than about five minutes from Nick's.

He had been counting the minutes until he would have been alone with Sara. Where no one could interrupt. Alone. Just the pull he felt at that word.

After all, after a shock like the one Sara had just had, she really shouldn't be alone…

He studied her as she put the car into drive again now, her own forehead creased, her lips tight, her back rigid as she hunched over the wheel.

He wanted to reach out and soothe her. She looked mad as hell.

It was better to know he didn't suffer alone, there was that word again, alone he was no longer alone, but it still pained him to see her uncomfortable.

He shifted in his seat again, giving her one last lingering look.

With an unconcealed sigh, he opened his mouth to offer the most insincere invite he had given in his entire life only to find his words lost volume to Catherine's.

"Hey, Sara, tell you what, why don't you just drop Nicky with me, Lindsay's gone for the night, he can have her bed."

Grissom's mouth closed the quickest it ever had in his life.

He'd also never loved Catherine Willows more. See, true friends were there for you even when they didn't know it. That was why he kept her around and put up with her for so long. Just for this very moment!

Nick turned to Catherine, through the streetlamps motion sick ebbs she would have sworn she could see pleading and relief in his eyes, and then it was gone again.

"If you're sure." Nick's voice was really quiet, yet inside he restrained the powerful urge to scoop Catherine up in an overbearing hug.

The weight of the key ring in his left hip pocket was burning guiltily through the fabric into his left leg, his toes curled as he forced himself to ignore the discomfort.

Yet this wasn't about lies and guilt, this was about more basic instincts that that, it was about survival.

"Yeah, it'll save Sara from doing anymore unnecessary driving. I'm sure she's had enough of that for tonight as it is."

Sense, from the one woman who would definitely not have won prizes for most sensible tonight.

Sara smiled gratefully at Catherine in the rear-view, god she owed her one here and the other woman would never truly know. Actually, that made two she owed her, she couldn't forget the quick make-up fix she'd worked wonders with either.

She didn't dare risk a glance at Grissom, already knowing she'd see her own smug and relieved emotions reflected back upon his face.

Hmmm… maybe they just weren't nice people… no, that wasn't true… but you might have been forgiven for thinking that the way karma had been teasing and taunting with them tonight. Letting them fret and worry about every little thing right until the final moment before letting them off the hook with the swiftness of demons!

But life wouldn't be life without a few challenges, right?

By the time Sara pulled the car over by Casa Willows, she had never been so relieved to see a place, or the back of certain people, as she was at that moment.

Watching the pair stagger up the slanted drive, Catherine tottering professionally in her heels, and Nick swaying a little, Sara barely waited long enough for them to open the front door before her foot was on the gas and she and Grissom couldn't be seen for a cloud if orangey Vegas dust.

_**0000000000**_

Stepping into the house, Catherine illuminated the room with a groan, dipping her head, closing her eyes against the bright light.

Nick stopped behind her. Blinking rapidly too, their eyes adjusting after the darkened streets outside.

Catherine's house still looked like a bomb had hit it. It was a very nice house, warm, light and airy, and tastefully decorated, just hidden under a careless scattering of discarded clothing.

"Housekeepers on vacation." She muttered vaguely as she meandered a path over to the breakfast bar, which still held the emptied bottle of wine she had polished off before she went out. That and what was left of Lindsay's ice cream puddle.

Looking back at Nick she saw he was hovering awkwardly by the door. Looking like a stranger in some new and foreign land. Now that she thought about it Nick probably hadn't been to this house before. Great day to showcase the new place… Maybe Nick wouldn't think to ask where she got the money for it from. Not that Sam Braun's money was helping her to control her life at all. She just had a nicer place to stress out in.

"Yeah, Lindsay and I are having some issues about her cleaning up after herself… you know." Catherine shrugged, "we are clearly not making any head way though. I told her she does it for herself because I won't anymore, so right now _no one_ is doing it."

Nick bravely and carefully made a pathway for himself through a collection of clothing that lined the floor, clothing that looked remarkably like the things Catherine had been wearing when she had left the Lab earlier…

Reaching out he captured a rather lacy, pretty damn sexy bra, which was tossed over the arm of a chair, he held it up with the tip of one finger, holding it as carefully as he would evidence for examination. La Perla, fancy!

"Please tell me this doesn't belong to Linds?!"

Catherine snatched the offending item away with a scowl, but it was good to see the cheeky grin on her friends face again.

"So, what happened to Linds tonight?"

He heard her sigh heavily at his question and wondered if he was intruding.

It had been pretty clear when she had appeared at the bar that something had gone wrong between Catherine and her wilful daughter, it hadn't just been Warrick she was mad with, not that her feelings there hadn't been pretty clear too.

It had amused him as an outsider to watch Lindsay grow. She'd been like the Lab's baby, mainly as none of the others had gotten around to the whole children thing yet, so they had all been learning vicariously through Catherine as Lindsay had grown up and had stood back in a mixture of awe and fear watching her become more and more like her mother, something that had already set off a few warning bells.

You didn't mess with an angry Willows woman… two in one household must be a living hell sometimes!

"Just another misunderstanding, one where I ended up looking like an idiot. Same old same." Catherine finally muttered into her hair as she stood on one foot, like an exotic flamingo fiddling with the ankle strap on one of her shoes. When the buckle finally gave, she groaned in pleasure at the sensation of blood rushing back into her toes. Releasing the other foot the same way she groaned again flicking back her hair.

Nick had found his way to the fish tank, and was tapping sadly on the glass.

"You… you…er lost a few Nemo's in here."

"I'll, er, I'll b…I'll sort them tomorrow."

Oh God, that awkward creeping, cold sensation was back again, that fearful shock wave that rippled through you and made you wish with all your might you could just frantically scoop the words back up and shovel them back into your mouth.

She'd almost said 'bury' she'd almost mentioned burying something underground. No no NO!

"Always used to flush the ones we had when I was a kid." Nick edged to clear the air a little once his heart had restarted after the twinge of pain and guilt he felt rip his chest at his friends sudden and obvious discomfort around him. Maybe if he hadn't been so tired Catherine's slip and immediately horrified expression would have been mildly amusing. But right now it wasn't. "One time one wasn't even dead. Thought I was setting it free! I didn't realise what a hard time of it a goldfish would have in the sewers. I was pretty guilty there for a while!"

They both shared a soft smile. Letting their breath out in a huff. He'd done it. He'd said the word 'dead' in another's presence and the world hadn't ended. He might just be okay.

"You'll be up here," Catherine explained, nodding her head upwards as she started to climb the stairs with heavy legs, "help yourself to anything in the kitchen by the way, there's bottles of water in the fridge."

She paused at the first door she came too, "Bathroom. There might even be an extra toothbrush under the sink if you have a look."

Reaching a second doorway, she pushed on the door and Lindsay's room was revealed to him.

It was pink, and sparkly and there was more mess in here than he would have ever dared to make in his entire life. His mother would have had him tidying by the ear if he'd made this much mess, or treated his things this badly.

To be honest he was really just frightened of all the teenage girl crap, it was a latent fear residual from high school!

Uncomfortable he looked to Catherine, "Don't worry about it, if you have a blanket, I'll just crash on the couch."

God knew what he might find in that room, lipsticks, nail polishes, bears, glitter, secret letters, the odd rat…

He might wake, that was a good joke… although sleeping was nothing to joke about right now, and find himself dolled up with full make up and painted toes, pink influences having worked their way into his sleepwalking subconscious.

"I'm not sure I could spend the night with all those eyes looking down at me from all those posters!" He forced a tired grin.

Catherine merely nodded. He could do what ever he wanted as long as she got to crawl into her own bed sooner. She already knew that she didn't have the energy to waste on removing her make up, the alcohol lulling her limbs meant that as soon as she was stripped and her head touched the pillow she would be asleep. Thank goodness for alcohol. She'd be asleep in minutes and freed from this day and all the thoughts she knew were just waiting to prey on her the moment she was sober enough to deal with them.

Ogh she was going to have a headache in the morning.

She just wished Nick would go to sleep already!

Turning away from the pink room Nick headed back down the stairs, his shoulders sinking as he moved through the main room to the pretty reasonable looking couch.

"Sorry, I'm afraid it doesn't fold out." Catherine's words announced her arrival behind him.

He turned to find her arms laden with blankets and a spare pillow.

"This will do the trick," he smiled, taking them from her, placing them onto the couch. "Thanks Cath."

Something deeply sad in his look made her sigh softly and reach up and give him a gentle hug.

"Night," she whispered and heard him return it as she stepped away to the stairs again.

As she crossed the floor he began to undress, tugging his shirt out of his trousers and unhooking the buttons, with a flash of her eyes at his muscled torso and as flirtatious a

grin as she could manage at this late hour, she turned away, behind her she heard him

continue to undress, the sharp stripping sound of the zipper and then the unmistakeable clatter of keys hitting the ground as they tumbled from the pocket of his shucked trousers.

Horrified Nick froze, his eyes going wide.

Oh he was so busted.

Catherine too froze in place on the stairs.

The silence stretched.

She didn't say a word.

After a moment she merely carried on climbing.

_**0000000000**_

"What?"

His gaze had been caressing her since the moment she had pulled away from the curb outside Catherine's. Sweeping over her face, her nose, her chin, her cheekbones, the elegant curve of her throat. That one simple but intimate exploration of her had been raising the temperature in the car steadily by degrees; each place his attention landed seemed to absorb enough heat to glow.

Without taking her eyes from the road she asked louder, pretending to be exasperated, "What?!"

With a sly huff of breath that escaped his smile he began to speak, "You know you really shouldn't be alone after a shock like that."

Pressing her tongue into the inside of her cheek to try and stop her laughter she made an indistinct, "hmmmm," sound in response. "I see."

Oh God he was going to ask her, he was going to ask her! All her nerve endings felt like they were tingling!

"I'm a Doctor, I should know." He announced, and she could see him nodding his head out of the corner of her eye.

"I didn't know you were that kind of Doctor," she intoned, playing along happily.

"We should definitely keep you awake a little bit longer… what shall we do…"

Her mind was practically screaming about all the things they could certainly do, but she bit her tongue.

"How about we get a cup of coffee?" He asked. His simple words exactly mirroring the first time he had asked her out, when he had found her in the hospital by Nick's bedside.

The smile that broke across her face was wide and free and delighted.

"Okay."

Oh God was that her voice sounding all girlie! Heaven help her!

He didn't want their night to end either. That made her whole body feel like it glowed. And he was completely irresistible, and he knew it, for reminding her of the event that had finally set all of this in motion.

But shaking her head, adding sadness to her voice she had to tell him, even though he was clearly already aware, "I'm afraid our usual place is probably closed by this hour though. It's a little late."

Usual place!! They had a usual place!

A quiet fell over the car, you could hear the engine hum.

Was he going to ask her? Would she ask him?

Should she ask him? Should he ask her?

You could practically hear their brains ticking over.

Ask him, don't ask him.

Ask her, don't ask her.

She was going to worry a hole in her bottom lip if she didn't decide soon.

"I… have coffee." She stuttered out, hearing her voice and cringing.

She sounded like she was about sixteen years old again.

"Perfect."

With one smooth word he made everything all right again.

She flicked her glance at him, still shy and nervous and wary of the road.

He was beaming. Something in his eyes told her that he wasn't just pleased about the coffee either.

Her insides dipped again as she fought hard to concentrate on the road ahead. Oh God, she'd done it. She'd gotten the words out. She'd asked him and he'd said yes. YES! It was a good job it wasn't far to drive now.

The tension inside the car was building again as they both mulled over the new direction the night was taking. The shared nervousness making them quieter than ever.

Sure it was only coffee, but was it more? Did they want it to be more? Yes! But were they ready for that? Was it rushing things?

God she sounded like she belonged in some housewives romance book.

Think clearly, yeah right, that was easier said than done when Grissom was about.

She knew she wanted this, but she had been loving the steadily mounting anticipation, well apart from the embarrassment's plural, the constant blushing, damn her fair skin, and the craziness of her hormones, but she was definitely enjoying this tantalisingly slow build.

But on the other hand they had been building for quite a few years now! Surely it was time to let of a little steam before they hurt themselves?

Just the idea of him being in her place, her apartment, within reach of her bed…

The car was getting warmer by the second, it was warmer with just the two of them in it than it had been with five earlier. She desperately wanted to fan her cheeks, but under his watchful gaze she knew he would immediately pick up on her flush being a symptom of arousal, if he hadn't already picked up on her scent.

Beside her he shifted to rearrange himself in the seat, awkwardly adjusting his trousers. His body and his overactive imagination already doing a number on him. She hadn't even touched him yet. He had no guarantee that the evening would end that way. God he wanted it too, but he had no such forceful expectations. He was always a gentleman.

It would always be Sara's choice.

No matter what he wanted and if she wasn't brave enough, or ready to ask then that was that, no matter how much it drove him crazy!

She looked so nervous.

She was flexing her fingers on the wheel.

It was funny, and a little bit wrong that everything was taking on a more romantic mood. Even just being alone with Grissom in a car, driving dreamily under streetlights, which was certainly not a new experience for her, had become this encounter with a sweet edge. Had her car always been this small and cozy?

Oh, she'd laugh at herself later. Hopefully whilst lying nude and entangled with him.

Oh God! Pay attention to the road! Focus, focus. Daydreams like that whilst driving will get you killed!

When his fingertip made brief contact with her cheek she gasped in surprise. Her awareness of him so heightened. Her mouth falling open. She hadn't expected the extra flood of heat his gently rough touch would bring. It was only the lightest contact of the back of his index finger to the curve of her cheek and she was already goo.

"Sara, relax."

His words were a sleepy rumble that swirled the honey inside.

She laughed a little smiling, relieved that her nervousness wasn't a secret, that he most likely felt it too.

It was out there; their relationship was on the brink of seriously changing. One word and her name on the heat of his breath and it had been acknowledged.

Letting out a calming breath, she managed to refill her lungs with another shudder.

Oh boy, relaxing, that was going to be a lot easier said than done! 


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer:** _Okay – so season 9 has officially started (more on that in a second) and I know I promised faithfully, CBS, to give them back to you then… but your naughty little CSI's…what can I tell you…they have currently managed to get themselves into some downright interesting situations and on the brink of some pretty pivotal and life-changing moments… and… I JUST CAN'T!! The readers would kill me… and at the moment… I'm more scared of them!! He he!!_

**Author Notes:**_ Okay - season 9 - I've actually been able to watch!! A day late, but who's complaining!! (Thank you so much to whoever invented the Internet – it's naughty I know, but I will be buying the DVD's and the US gets to watch them for free!!) 'For Warrick' I loved. Edge of the seat for some of it, hand over mouth in horror for the rest. Oh my goodness – how amazing were Mr Petersen and Ms Helgenberger!! I actually cried watching them at the end. And Jorja's back!! She's back she's back! Even if it is only for a little while!! _

_Then came 'The Happy Place'… happy my ar…( sorry…!!) I get that they were going for that of course… but I'm certainly not happy and that's all I'm going to say on that one…_

_Anyway – on to much nicer things!! After all we GSR fans need it right about now…_

_A heartfelt thank you. I cannot believe I have more than 100 reviews for this!! I've never had so much interest in anything I've written before! I never thought anybody would want to read my little story!! So thank you, thank you!!_

_I could fill this entire chapter with nothing but a million thank you's!! But I won't!! I'll just have to try and thank you guys in another way… hmmmm… _

_On with the story!!_

Okay – so just in case you are wondering… the song I imagined was Louis Armstrong's 'It's a wonderful world'… but feel free to imagine anything you'd like!! Read on to find out more…!!

Stars In Motion.

By Rianne

_Chapter Fifteen._

With a flick of her wrist the car engine died and all was quiet.

Quiet, and dark, in her small car parking space away from the streetlamps and the rest of the world.

They could hear each other's soft breathing.

This was really happening.

She sat a moment, looking down at her hands resting on the steering wheel.

Before she turned to him.

Her insides fluttered and she took a quick breath as relief swept her.

The expression on his shadowed face was open and cautious, as nervous as she felt.

They were really doing this. She wasn't dreaming.

She managed somehow to turn up the corners of her lips in a gentle, shy smile, seeing his eyes crinkle at the edges in response.

Now or never.

Breaking away she turned and opening the door eased herself out, setting herself in motion, come what may.

Closing the door behind her, hearing him imitate the movement on the opposite side of the car, she then clicked the key and the doors locked, the sound unnaturally loud.

The air had cooled some with the late hour, but her jangling nerves kept her alternating rapidly between chilly and overheated.

Heading up the path to her door, she could hear him following; close enough that she could feel the edges of his warmth by her left shoulder.

With a tilt of her head she could see him, and taking a breath her lower lip once again took up its now habitual place between her teeth as took in his hunched figure.

Both hands were in his trouser pockets, his head was dipped, his shoulders low.

Gil Grissom's version of the Thinking Man.

Oh God, what if he was changing his mind?

She could only imagine the alarm bells that must be going off in his mind right now as the strength of them was crossing the small distance between their bodies and triggering her own internal warning system.

He _was_ worried, no not worried, concerned. Mainly preoccupied with just how nervous she was. Second guessing everything was as natural to him as breathing. He liked to have all the facts, consider all the angles. He was afraid he was guiding her too forcefully, even if it had been her invite, it had originally been his idea to prolong the evening and their time together. Was he pushing her? So eager himself that he was quickening the pace between them before she was ready for that?

He had to admit he wasn't even sure that he was completely ready for that. Ready to not only bare himself emotionally but physically as well. He certainly didn't have the body he'd had in his twenties that was for sure.

Not that he expected to be offered such intimacies tonight, but the temptation, the mood, the residual pleasure of having such fun all evening, had left the air pulsating with the possibilities of it.

She was stalking ahead of him, longer legs quickly and gracefully crossing more ground than his irritatingly bowed ones. She did look tense though; even her walk was different; it lacked its usual lazy sway. He wanted to soothe her, reassure her that this was all right, was going to be easy. He wanted to touch her. Did he have permission to touch her like that yet? Did he need it? He wanted to touch her. Wanted to caress his fingers over the enticing curve of her lower back. He couldn't take his eyes from the arch of it, his fingers flexed.

It was a simple place to touch, gentlemanly, vaguely possessive. A touch that said a lot, without saying very much at all, and that spoke to him. The real him.

He had held back for so long. Fought so many temptations that they had all blurred into one constant need for contact, to be able to touch her.

Right there, on the path outside her home, he made a choice. This was it. The very last instance he wasted time. The absolute last time he refused himself something so simple and small and harmless if he wanted it. The last time he restrained his impulses because of something as fleeting as nervous fear.

He had to live. Live, like he thought he had forgotten how too.

He couldn't hide away in his hermetically sealed apartment, secure amongst his bugs and his books and fight down all his more emotional and affectionate desires, a single day longer.

What was he waiting for? So much possibility lay before him.

This was Sara, tough as nails, but as warm and deep and vulnerable as he was. This was Sara who knew the pressures of his job, implicitly comprehended his drive for his work, and the power and the thrill of the mystery in CSI puzzle solving, herself. Who knew the painstaking lengths a person had to go to in order to protect themselves from the horrors they saw every working day of their lives. Who had her own set of walls, and fears and self-protective responses.

A woman who understood. A woman so patient she had already waited years for him.

A woman with whom he could fight those fears. Learn to trust, give in to affection, open himself up to the risks and possibility of falling in love…

He had to make use of the heady, euphoric thrill that came with realising your own mortality. That came with the new deeper understanding of being alive that Nick's kidnapping had instilled within him. He had to harness the swirling power of feeling this good, this ready to take stock of every precious chance his life gave him, and quickly before the sensation faded and he missed out.

He had so many mistakes to make up for.

He took a long sideways glance and drank her in again.

Under a veil of moonlight her skin glowed and her hair was a sea of darkest waves.

She was chewing her lower lip. He wasn't used to seeing her like this, the Sara Sidle he knew could knock him on his ass with a perfectly placed word, with one raise of an eyebrow she could shock him out of his long accustomed ways.

It was a powerful feeling, and a fatal one to know he mattered so much to her that he made her this nervous, as nervous as she made him.

Oh God if he messed this up he may never be forgiven.

But he would _never _forgive himself if he didn't at least try.

Almost at her front door and far too busy worrying she slowed to a stop just before him without thought.

It took all of two seconds for very distracted thinking man to bump heavily right into her.

The broad wall of his chest was suddenly flush against her back.

His hands reappeared instinctively, grasping out to steady her, his pocket-warmed skin landing firmly, squeezing gently, and then relaxing upon her nearly bare shoulders.

The instant thrill at the skin-to-skin contact arched her spine, and lulled his eyes closed, as both drew breath.

The shock of much awaited contact between them had lit tendrils of sensation. This friction had always existed between them; a touch didn't need to be intentional, like restraining her wrists, or caressing his cheek, or holding her hand. The slightest brush of fingertips as they passed a file, or a flashlight, or a sample bottle was all it could take sometimes for heat to spark inside them and their concentration to be shot into thousands of precious glittering pieces.

She had always noticed that he had made careful attempts not to touch her. She had desperately hoped that he had felt the surge when they connected this way too. Hoped he had been just as affected when they touched. Prayed he resisted these simple moments of contact for the very same reason as she often fought the urge to close the distances between them; that it was far too tempting, far too stimulating.

She could feel the heavy pound of his racing heartbeat against her upper back.

The thought of dreams coming true made her giddy, or as giddy as she could manage without looking manic.

They remained on her path a moment longer before the feel of his warm, shuddering, breathy laughter into her hair began to ease some of the tension, allowing them to laugh at themselves and their own nervous behaviours. You would have thought at their ages they would have grown out of awkward adolescent bumblings like this, but it seemed they hadn't.

They were doomed to be geeky forever.

"I'm sorry," she managed to murmur, her voice soft, barely a whisper, and gently amused. The weight of his palms still resting distractingly on her shoulders. She had to fight a sudden urge to just sink back into the heat of him, to relax against his chest and close her eyes. "I was just getting the right key ready," she lifted the bunch in her hand, knowing he could see over her shoulder, offering an explanation for her clumsiness, or rather, causing his.

She noted he made no such excuse. He still hadn't let go of her either.

Her lip had resumed its rightful gnawed upon place.

He wasn't letting go. He wasn't stepping back.

At first it was pleasant, the lingering.

Then the moment wore on and the gnawing unease began to creep in around the edges.

As much as she tried to fight her mind as it began to question his hesitation she found it winning. In snuck the worse case possibilities, before she could stop them…

Oh no.

This wasn't where he admitted that somehow he had already called a cab, without letting her know, was it? Or where he just plain walked home, he was that desperate to be away from her and in a place suitable to seek shelter from this damn out of their depth tension brewing between them, was it?

The air was painfully quiet.

His hands seemed to increase in weight as they pressed her.

This tension, it was driving her crazy, and if it unnerved her, it had to be driving Mr Emotionally Skittish to absolute distraction.

It was just so different now, now that they were alone.

Now that they were in a private, secluded place, just inches from her home.

Now that there was no immediate fear of being interrupted, even by someone they didn't know. And with escorting their friends' home, gone were the safe restrictions and policies of work and all that came with it.

Gone were the excuses.

And it knocked the pressure up to almost a thousand between them.

Here they wouldn't have to stop if they didn't want to.

If they wanted to, they could explore each other in anyway they liked, or anyway the other wanted.

They could do as they liked.

Just like they had been longing to, all night.

Just like she had been longing to for what felt like as long as she could remember.

The moment they had waited for, thought about, fantasised about was here, if they wanted it to be.

So why was that suddenly so scary?

She was lost in thought when his hands began moving again, gently massaging, pressuring, and coaxing her to turn towards him.

She wasn't sure she wanted too.

Turning meant making a decision, or facing the truth in his eyes about the decision he had made.

Not easy either way.

But with the pressure of his palms, urging her she didn't seem to have a choice.

Allowing his guidance she turned, delaying purposely, refusing to let her gaze wander higher than the open top button of his crisp blue shirt.

It was a nice shirt, not the one he had been wearing all day, at some point he must have changed it, it was one he'd worn for court a few times, one she'd idly imagined loosening the bland tie from around and tauntingly sliding the buttons free on, as they had sat waiting for hours outside courtrooms to be called upon to give witness.

Looking hard at that button she chewed furiously on her lip again. She didn't want to be here to hear his gentle, but respectful refusal, didn't think she could stomach being turned down when they had finally got this far.

But their relationship right up until now had been so unpredictable, just how she had always hated her life to be, as it always seemed to flow that way, no matter how accurately she planned.

She'd read somewhere that unpredictability in relationships was supposed to be the fun part. Well she experienced enough unpredictability at work, thank you very much. What she wanted from her personal life was something simpler, something sweeter.

She needed to learn to trust him again. And more importantly learn to trust herself and her own decisions. This was the right choice. The one they both wanted to make, they both just needed to get over it already and get on with the really good parts of getting to know one another!

His first touch to her cheek jolted her back to him. Just the back of his fingers stroking dreamily down the curve of the cheekbone and then along the jaw to lift her chin.

Dazed by the caress she tilted her face. Her eyelids fluttering without her permission.

He was smiling.

He WAS smiling!!

His eyes glittered with it in the barely there light.

She shivered a little, feeling like she passed through another moment in time, and the present all at once, as she realised that they were standing just as they had been when he first kissed her.

Standing in the very same spot, his hand cupping her face just so and her heart pounding just the same.

The deja vu made her head spin.

The flicker in his eyes told her he was feeling it too.

If she had been able to think clearly she might have cursed her own lack of patience, her own lack of concentration tonight for her failing memory. This was Grissom, Gil Grissom, Griss, man who did everything at his own pace. Who quietened when he thought, especially when he was thinking his deepest thoughts. Talking himself into whatever his mind had already decided upon. Taking his time, appreciating, making sure he at least tried to get it right. How could she forget that?

The backs of his fingers trailed her jaw again, his thumb, print down, leading the way.

Her heart was pounding. She found herself leaning towards him, her upper body eager for the contact.

Was he going to kiss her?

His thumb swept her chin, catching the bottom edge of her lower lip, still held fast between her teeth as she waited and wondered.

A curious smile on his face, he traced over her lips again, watching her reactions closely, before taking a sweep at her upper lip too this time, then tugging gently down on her lower one. The rugged skin of the pad, easing the petal of flesh from the vice-like hold of her teeth.

Her lips parted, mouth falling open, needing little encouragement.

His smile grew.

He leant closer, his thumb taking another sweep. Feeling the skin dampen with the heat of her breath against the colder air around them.

Oh God he was going to have to kiss her before he lost his mind.

She was just hovering there, blinking lazily at him, leaning encouragingly into his hand.

The moments ticking by.

Oh he wanted to kiss her again, just like he did last time, but with so much more.

Come on, you've done this before! It's not even your first kiss!

She'd recognised the coincidence that their little stumble had brought them right back to the exact moment of their first kiss, he'd seen it in her eyes, it was poetic and stupid and oh God, he was still just standing there watching her.

Kiss her!!

He leant in, felt their breath mingle, and watched her eyelids seductively dip.

Only to be suddenly shocked open again as behind him, headlights snapped on, flooding their little private corner of the world. Throwing their intimacy into the spotlight quite literally as a guy climbed noisily into the truck parked by Sara's car.

"All right, having a good night?" He shouted over to them, with a broad cheeky grin that Grissom itched to slap off his face with his bare hands, he felt such a surge of frustration towards the guy, and he wasn't ever a violent man.

Sara took a step back, away from Grissom's touch. Caught in an embarrassing situation, flustered and annoyed.

The disappointment was palpable.

"Yeah. Hey, John." She called over to her neighbour, sharply flicking him a wave, the husky catch in her voice making it sound loud and unfamiliar and not at all casual, or in a million years disguising her frustration.

Once the car tore away, with a screech of tyres, she dared to glance back up at Grissom.

With beseeching eyes she opened her mouth to say something, anything, to repair the obvious damage, but nothing came out.

She thought about stepping back into him, taking his hand and guiding it back into place at her cheek, but her nerves failed her just as her hand lifted from her side.

She knew then just how brave he had been to initiate the touch in the first place. It was so easy to just be responsive.

Grissom was staring after the tail lights of the car.

The moment was sadly gone.

So much for not being interrupted.

She lifted her shoulders grumpily, wanting to shove her hands into her jeans, hunch her shoulders, and sulk.

Her face contorted as she dipped her brows and wrinkled her nose in frustration, letting out a little huff of breath, but she couldn't keep it up.

This was so stupid. But it was funny too. All this time they had taken to get to this point and now that they were clear and ready and finally, supposedly alone, the world at large seemed determined not to give them a break.

Some sign. But she refused to believe in that kind of crap, thank goodness.

Forcing her attention up, fighting the urge to desperately and frantically cry out, 'why?' to the skies, she rolled her eyes, feeling her grin slowly spreading.

If you couldn't laugh what else could you do?

He echoed her huff, watching her laugh with his eyebrows raised and then he laughed too. That gentle Grissom chuckle she had heard so little of lately.

They swayed on her doorstep a moment longer, blinking madly at one another as laughter rolled over into softer sighs. She lent her palm gently against his chest just to make connection with him. Just to touch him in some way.

Finally, calmer, he managed to nod his head in the direction of the door and lifting his hand to where he'd wanted it since they walked the path, he pressed it cautiously against the curve at the small of her back, relaxing as he saw the touch charm her.

He waited patiently to one side as she carefully turned the key in the lock before following after her, a shy smile warming his face.

Stepping through the doorway he closed the door behind him, pausing by it. Feeling her step away from his touch, as she advanced through the room, confident in the darkness so familiar to her. She glided elegantly through the shadows cast dark and lighter throughout the place.

A moment later a lamp flicked on across the room. A small glow, which ebbed from beneath an unusual, ornate shade, which silhouetted her against the golden light.

She couldn't look at him; her brain was too busy squealing, 'Grissom's in my home!' idiot!

She certainly looked at home here.

He had been inside her home before, but then pressing matters had distracted him, this time he was an invited guest.

As she headed over to the kitchen area, he took his time to glance about, discovering what secrets lay in the shadowed reaches beyond the lamplights glow. It was small. Cosy, neat, full of interesting things to catch the eye. Deep, rich colours abounded from every surface, making it the perfect haven and the perfect opposite to his own clean, very ordered, collected home.

In one quick cursive glance he learnt more about Sara Sidle than he had in years with her at the Lab, the whole place just had a sense of her.

He felt the investigator in him give in to the personal desire to know so much more. She was opening herself up to him and he had the time and permission to linger. It was wrong to snoop, but it was so tempting and his eyes were drawn helplessly from one clue to the next.

Sara, her home told him, enjoyed touch, creativity, warmth, and comfort. Was far more sentimental that she would ever admit. Had a penchant for black and white photography and managed, somehow, to give the illusion that the clutter was intentional and artistic, an organised chaos.

The rich, earthy colours were Sara colours, coordinating with her dark hair, creamy skin, and sweet flush. Colours that suited her and adorned her more often that no too.

Unusual mustard sofa and matching heavy curtains were blended and softened with warm fabrics of reds and browns, rugs, cushions, throws. All surplus to necessity, merely decorative, pretty, tactile and inviting.

For a chilling moment he again saw another time rippling memories over the current one. Sara curled in on herself, sobbing into her hands, and him, a horrendous, awkward, useless lump of a man having to force himself just to be brave enough to offer out a hand as a perpetual lifeline for her to cling to.

How had he let that happen?

Never again. That was a promise.

Shaking his head, he took a breath as he let his eyes explore again.

Her furniture was of differing wood, mismatched, possibly remnants of other homes, other lives lived before this one. Some old, some newer, but all functional as well as beautiful.

A shiny, low granite table, supported by wooden legs dominated the seating area and there were plants, actual cared for living plants, on several surfaces.

To the side of her front door a decorative screen of carved leaves and flowers revealed the barest of secrets to those who knocked at her door, and mostly kept the room discretely veiled.

Beautiful, smart and private, just like the woman who fluttered before him as she gathered things for coffee.

And books. So many books, stacked and towered on shelves and cases, scattered with carefree abandon on surfaces. Big books, small books, some old, some new, some clearly read many times, art, history, design, literature, work related and for pleasure.

His feet itched to edge nearer to them, to read the spines, to touch the covers and delicate pages, to read the words she had read before him.

Yet he resisted, as at a faint clearing of her throat he turned and met Sara's gaze across the room and took in the quirk of her eyebrow and the thoughtful purse of her lips.

Busted.

But in his defence he was a trained investigator, it was in his nature to be rude in this way. He didn't even realise he did it some times.

She looked so vulnerable and he saw the fight warring in her eyes as she tried to resist the urge to rush around and grasp as many of her belongings as possible to her chest in a desperate move of self-protection.

With a contrite look and a please forgive me dip of his head he fought down that investigative urge, for her sake, for her privacy.

That look made her a little guilty, she knew full well that she would have been doing exactly the same if the invite had been to his place.

He wanted to know everything about her so much and all at once, that he almost whined.

But he had to admit that it wasn't fair to ask that of her until he was ready to really share himself fully with her.

Equally. Equality. Trust.

This was a sanctuary, a private and welcoming, shelter for her. He would not violate that.

He would be grateful for the insights that he had already gained and be quiet about it.

Stepping further into the room he hovered, unsure if he should sit down, aware that he was probably a little too wired to sit and not fidget. He was also aware that sitting down may cause him to slow down and the chances that he would crash out once he stopped were pretty high after the last few weeks he had just endured.

He'd managed to fall asleep with his head on his desk just a few mornings ago, waking gazing into the somewhat frightening face of the elderly janitor, who already despised him and his 'museum to dead things' and had not been kind enough to clean around him.

No he'd stand, but he couldn't just hover here looking like he was awaiting an order or something.

In the kitchen as she clattered about Sara couldn't help but feel a little like she was on exhibit. It was nice that he was so interested in her, and she did know that he wasn't just curious from a purely nosy standpoint. He genuinely did want to learn about her, but it was so weird to be effectively 'investigated' like this.

She had the uncontrollable urge to clean. To tidy and dust and spruce. Not that the place was untidy, it just wasn't quite ready for scrutiny. She wasn't prepared for such scrutiny. She hadn't expected things to get so far, so quickly.

He was waiting behind her, trying not to stare at her or at her home, after being caught, but he looked like a little boy in a toyshop. It was sweet, really, it was. He was holding back an instinct, which was as much a part of him as breathing, and he was doing it for her.

It was still really quiet in there.

God, why couldn't she just start a normal conversation with him?

Well, what on earth would they talk about, for starters?

Not work, they weren't that desperate for conversation.

She could do this. Be a grown up. Force relaxed conversation. After all she'd forced much worse around him over the years. Forced cheerfulness on her lowest days, forced a sulk when she really wanted to plant kisses all over that boyish grin of his, pretended to be fine when she really wasn't, and pleasant around him when it was the last thing he deserved.

She could do this, be that fake calm, relaxed, slightly sultry woman she longed to be around him. She was just going to have to fake it until it felt natural.

This should be easy, she talked to him all the time in her head.

Their conversations long and stimulating. Just like they used to be when they first met.

Until that day she had thought her daydreaming days were long over, lost to some hazy youth she barely remembered, before the blood and the fighting and the foster families and the pains of growing up before you should ever have to.

But then she met him, and he had somehow managed to restart her mind, not only to stimulate her intellectually, to teach, to mentor, to guide, but also to free her. To allow her to dream again and enjoy the idea of having someone to think about, to imagine sharing her thoughts with.

Hey, maybe she was finally going crazy as she had always feared.

Yet in her head when she spoke to him she wasn't afraid, in her daydreams she could tell him anything and it was easy and it came out as fluid prose and more importantly, she could be honest. Tell him how she really felt, even if his responses came only from her own mind, and clearly reflected her own desires. In her head she could always turn to him to share her newest discovery, or help herself by talking out some problem she had.

It was a worrying trait and she knew it. A mental kind of therapy. But it had helped her, and what was a little gentle daydreaming going to hurt anyone? She had been sad enough, she had known that more disappointment, that having to imagine instead of having the real thing, couldn't push her any lower.

And for the record she knew it wasn't real. That was the important part. But it was good to loose herself in the imagining of it.

It had eased her heavy heart during the longest, loneliest days. To lie in her bed and imagine his arms around her, to imagine his touch, his fingers in place of her own trailing over her skin and drawing shivers from her as her body gave way to the sweetest tension.

Although that fantasy was probably the most normal to star him. She couldn't imagine that there were many other women who imagined sparking eyes with their desired in an evidence vault, or over a morgue table, or in his freaky office.

But she had just as many thoughts of him outside of the bedroom.

He, of so many interests, who had always had something to say about every subject, had wandered into her daydreams whilst she did so many things. Always wondering what his take on everything would be.

She had attended art gallery shows alone, but with him, read books alone, but with him, seen sights of great beauty alone, but with him. Always thinking up questions she'd love to ask him, if she could ever slide them into everyday work conversations without sounding completely random, as she just knew he'd know the answers she sought.

Maybe she simply was going crazy, painfully lonely, just about ready to be the mad old lady with all the cats, but she had felt like she had lived the last few years of her life with him right there, he'd been in her thoughts so much. Imagining what she would say each time she thought of him.

Maybe that was why it was so hard to reconcile this real Grissom with the friend she had carried in her head for so long. That personal castle in the air version of Grissom already knew her. Knew her desires and wishes and fantasies. He'd lived them with her.

She was floundering now with the real one as she was realising just how much time had passed between them. How long it had been since they had really had a real conversation about anything meaningful that wasn't work related. She needed to be more patient with this real Grissom. After all, the poor guy didn't even realise how behind he was with things. How could he meet her lofty expectations without time, without the chance to first learn all these things about her?

She could and couldn't wait for him to learn these things about her, all at once.

The idea that she could actually make real her daydreams was amazing. She'd do anything she had to.

And she knew how he drank his coffee, that was one small intimate detail already checked off the list.

She drew the sugar pot closer, knowing he liked two sugar spoonfuls to her half a spoon, and even that was only in strong coffee.

Hmmm. Music, he thought. That might ease the need for conversation. She still seemed flighty and as she would put it, 'weirded out' by his being here.

He had spotted a music player in the corner of the room, positioned close to her desk on a bookshelf.

He felt her eyes on him as he crossed the room. She was trying to be discrete, a sidelong glance, but he was attuned to every slight movement she made.

"May I?" He spoke quietly.

"Sure."

He heard the shrug in her voice rather than saw it.

Pressing power he flicked to the radio tuner, as he idly strolled through the frequencies he found his gaze drawn to the books by the side of the unit.

He couldn't help himself. It couldn't possibly be considered snooping if they were out on display like this. He wasn't technically opening anything. He tried to justify, hungry gaze devouring the titles adorning the glossy, and wrinkled spines.

Art for one, lots of art, and some travel, for places he didn't think she had been to and then one, a slim paperbacked book, with a pink spine and well read pages. A romance novel. His fingertip traced it as gently as it had caressed her arm earlier and her lips just minutes before. With gentle reverent warmth.

The image of her curled on her couch, bundled in a blanket, this book in hand and a dreamy and serene expression of concentration as she read, touched him. That would certainly be a distraction away from her usual pursuits of crime and research.

Just imaginary, but pleasant none the less. He knew Sara was a romantic, despite her adamant refusal of the concept.

There was a small, framed picture too, of Sara, younger, bouncing around with a dog. He didn't know she'd had a dog. One she'd clearly adored. His lips quirked at photo Sara's happy expression. He longed to touch that too, but he held back.

With the radio dial still slipping through the stations, he kept on until a track he vaguely recognised filtered through. A low, slow song, he couldn't name, but it was quiet and easy, and didn't fit the bill of romantic mood music that he found so cringe worthily nauseating, and that was the last thing he wanted. Making her laugh would be sweet, but he wanted her to laugh with him, not laugh at him, that he was purposely trying to avoid.

No, this would do.

She was still flitting about in the kitchen. It didn't take this much fuss to make coffee.

She was jittering like she had drunk about ten mugs already, he wondered if he should gently and carefully contain her to make sure she didn't hurt herself!

He moved closer, his first instinct to find out what was taking her so long to simply boil water and add coffee, but as he moved he was suddenly struck with an idea.

She liked romance, he could give her romance.

With pleasure.

He smirked as he approached her, watching her lithe back as she slid things around on the counter before her.

She was distracted, focused on her task now.

He stepped closer.

He watched as she stretched up, her arms gliding upwards, opening a cabinet above her head, rising higher she used each hand to grasp a mug, fingers curling into the sleek handles.

He stepped closer.

He heard the radio announcer's voice come warbling gently across the airwaves to him. Revealing the next song.

Perfect.

He reached her, just as she took a step back to steady herself, slightly disoriented by her heels.

She found herself engulfed by him.

His arms, his chest, his heat.

His palms landing gentle and heavy and warm on her hips.

Her mouth fell open as she gasped in surprise, just managing to place the mugs on the counter before they fell forgotten to the floor in a shatter of ceramic.

Oh God.

He was so close, enclosing her against the counter as beside them on the side the hot water reached boiling and it wasn't the only one.

She could already sense his smile at surprising her, and as the wall in front of her began to blur and haze she felt his nose nudge the curls from her shoulder and the back of her neck.

Her body started to hum.

Then his beard was there, brushing teasingly against the ultra sensitive curve of her neck.

Followed by the stroke of his open mouth, burning, soft.

"Careful," his husky whisper was gravely and hot.

She squirmed helplessly, feeling his palms tighten over her jeans as his heat intensified where it sank through the fabric.

"It's just me," he rumbled, the sound rolling up his chest and out against the stimulated skin as shivers raced down her spine.

She could feel the tender stroke of the roll of his shirt, and the slightly rough hair on the top of his arms as it brushed over the bare backs of her own.

"Sara," he murmured, nuzzling his nose into her hairline, his mouth and quiver inducing beard brushing back and forth over her thumping pulse point as her knees turned to jelly. "Need some help there?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but only a low groan escaped as she reached out to steady herself against the counter top, her fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the sleek surface and failing. Catching the sugar pot with her left hand it tumbled over, spilling its glistening crystals over in a lake of stars.

Stars she could align with as they sparkled like the desire tingling in her belly.

Daydreams be damned! She'd take the real thing any day.

Oh God!

She could literally feel his smile against her skin, a smile that most likely came from hearing her groan. Embarrassing? She really couldn't care right now.

If it meant he kept doing what ever it was he was doing she could make any damn noise he'd like, she thought deliriously.

Her eyes were closed now, and she hummed happily, wriggling back against him, as he hit a particularly ticklish spot.

Damn he was good at finding those.

"Sara?" his words caressed his lips against her skin.

She dreamily felt herself being turned to face him, his hands sliding easily over the silk to encircle her lower back and keep her nice and close.

Her eyes drifted open, taking in his heavy, aroused lids, and the darkened depths of charcoal blue in there.

She smiled, tilting her head to one side, feeling warmed all over and just brave enough to be the sultry woman she wanted to be.

She stroked the tip of her tongue flittingly over her lower lip, watching his attention follow the moisture.

If that wasn't an invite.

She felt one of his hands lift away from her back and tilted her chin up, expecting the next caress to fall there, but it never came.

Instead when his fingers returned he smirked as he lingeringly caressed her lips again, but this time the tip of his thumb was laced with a swipe of the spilt sugar.

The crystals fizzed sweetness as they mixed with the heated wet of her sensual mouth.

Their gaze held, taunting one another, begging one another, wanting to submit.

Yet he still didn't kiss her.

He was teasing her damn it. And he was clearly loving it.

Oh two could play at that game.

A glint in her eye she immediately jerked forward, attempting to capture his thumb between her lips and suck, but he was far too quick for her.

With another chuckle he had dragged away his touch, his thumb disappearing into his own mouth, never breaking the gaze as he removed it clean with a pop.

Her sweetened mouth made an indignant 'O' which just amused him even more.

"Dance with me," he suddenly whispered as if he'd finally worked up the courage.

She studied his face, which fell serious under her questioning look.

His gaze remained still steady, but suddenly watered cloudier, almost shy.

"To this?" she responded, her eyebrows rising in genuine surprise as indignancy receded, and she tried to tease away his nerves.

"Yes."

She saw his efforts to be firm, sure, how could he ever think she would refuse?


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer:** _Okay – so season 9 has officially started and I know I promised faithfully, CBS, to give them back to you then… but your naughty little CSI's…what can I tell you…they have currently managed to get themselves into some downright interesting situations and on the brink of some pretty pivotal and life-changing moments… and… I JUST CAN'T!! The readers would kill me… and at the moment… I'm more scared of them!!! He he!!_

**Author notes:** _Okay – so just in case you are wondering… the song I imagined was Louis Armstrong's 'It's a wonderful world'… but feel free to imagine anything you'd like!! Beth, one of my wonderful reviewers, (Hi Beth!) informed me that this was her Father/Daughter dance song at her wedding, so Beth, you many want to think of another song with slightly more GSR-style romantic connotations!! I don't know why I thought of this particular song, I guess it is just beautiful and positive thinking, and I'm lazy and it was just in my head!_

_And talking of music – the CD I have had in my car all week has been Death Cab For Cutie – Narrow Stairs and of all the songs in the world CSI chose a song off that album (Pity and Fear) to end this weeks episode 9x04!!_

_Weird!!_

_I have also used a little creative license – in MY STORY, Sara's apartment is on the ground floor and has its own back door to a courtyard – just imagine she moved up in the world and had some home improvements!! _

**Thank you all** so much for all your encouraging words, they keep me writing and make me smile.

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne.

Chapter Sixteen.

He'd seen them fall in slow motion.

The glitter of the metal in the ceiling light.

He had not had time to reach out and catch them.

The sound of metal against metal against floor had echoed like the scream of panic that burst inside with sudden pound of his heart as it skipped a beat and the tried to plough right on regardless in a new and haphazard rhythm.

And what did he do?

Did he pretend nothing had happened?

Did he follow after Catherine, grasp her by her slender shoulders, and explain?

Beg for forgiveness?

Did he ask for the help he desperately craved?

No.

He just stood there like a fool. Caught and exposed in this deception. Unable to say anything.

Taking advantage of his gracious friend.

She had turned away and walked on.

Taken the calm and quiet high road. The role he had always been the one to play his whole life.

Dependable, honest, good lad Nick.

Never forcing others, finding ways to talk them around.

Genuine, trustworthy, caring.

Knowing his place and where others fit in around him.

Putting others first.

Finishing last like nice guys always did.

He had certainly never been a good liar.

She knew she knew she knew.

But she also knew not to force it.

She had turned away and walked on.

She had after all been friends with Gil Grissom for a long time. She'd had plenty of practise with uncommunicative man at his finest.

Unless she was too drunk and tired to care.

Oh no. He wouldn't be that lucky twice. She'd be right back to it in the morning.

Once she had disappeared out of sight and his pulse had stopped straining the flesh on the side of his neck he had eyed Catherine's couch warily.

He had stretched his arms in the air, popping his shoulders with a groan before the alcohol made the room spin and he stumbled, striking his leg against the small table to his left.

With a barely disguised yowl of hurt he sank to one knee, his arm wrapping around his assaulted shin as he fought back a wave of instinctive pain induced tears.

The room was still spinning beyond the blurry wall of liquid in his vision.

He guessed he deserved that. Lying to your friends.

Bad karma.

This didn't bode well for the morning either.

Catherine had held her tongue, but he knew Catherine. She wouldn't hold it for long. It just wasn't in her nature.

Of all the times for him to drop those keys, how did he manage to forget that they were 'hidden' in his pocket?

Oh yeah, maybe it had something to do with the very large quantity of alcohol that was currently overwhelming the red cells in his blood stream.

He could be his very own superhero: Alcoholic man! Mild Mannered CSI by Night, but by Day when the alcohol ran through his bloodstream he became stupid, drunken, stumbling, lying lowlife Man.

He smirked to himself; he'd always wondered what it would feel like to wear tights.

Then out of nowhere his stomach rolled.

Oh god.

Bathroom, which door was the bathroom again?

All he remembered was something inane about toothbrushes.

His stomach rolled again, loudly.

Loud enough for him to actually hear and feel it.

He scrambled from the floor, his leg protesting beneath him.

Stairs, oh God, stairs.

From the bottom they looked like Everest to him.

It took hands and knees and a little time and a pause about half way up, but he made it. Sweaty and tired and if possible more nauseous than before.

Hovering reelingly at the top he paused, forehead creased with the sheer amount of concentration he needed to even think simple thoughts. Exhaustion and alcohol sending sickening waves and drowsy sleepy rolls throughout him and he couldn't decide right now which was the more potent. Weeks of no sleep beginning to wreak havoc on his body and his mind.

Finally falteringly on the move again, he tried the first door he came too, but came across what must be Catherine's bedroom, the room was dark, but through the shadows and his dizzy vision he could just about make out his friend, face down on her bed, bare and barely covered by a bed sheet, her skin eerily pale in the darkness.

No, not that one.

Yet the scene before him tightened his finger hold around the doorframe.

Catherine lay sprawled, dead to the world. Looking eerily like the kind of scene they often processed at work and that horrendous thought twisted his gut again. If it hadn't been for the sudden reflux protests of his unsettled stomach he would have probably stumbled across the room desperate to confirm the life in his friend with the beat of her pulse against his fingertip.

Turning away he tried to carry on walking, using the wall for support and leverage, but he just stumbled as a dizzy spell overwhelmed him and he slowly slid down to the ground. His palms sliding down the slick paintwork as if the walls had been greased.

It wasn't funny anymore.

He crawled as quickly as he could down the hall; so desperate to reach the bathroom he didn't care what it took. His forehead was creased tight and glum. He would never drink for this long again, what was he thinking? He wasn't in his twenties anymore. They'd been out for what seven, maybe eight hours? Oh God, he refused to throw up on Catherine's pristine carpet.

He felt like he wasn't getting anywhere. Pressing his face against doors, nudging them open with his hands, his forehead and his nose, he met cupboards, mountains of towering linens and even clothes, but not the room he was searching for.

It felt like he was lost in some nightmare house, the kind that always looked pleasant and mundane enough until it started to mess with your mind. The darkness morphing it into something more, shadows flickering from behind curtains, taunting of things to be afraid of outside. Brick walls and more doors behind closed doors and corridors that stretched forever and ever.

He hadn't fallen asleep already, had he?

But finally he found the tiled one.

Room of the porcelain god.

The last room he had come to. Of course.

He scrambled across the tiled floor, his socked feet slipping wildly on the sleek surface, before he was finally able to slump against the toilet bowl, just in time for his stomach to empty as best he could manage.

His head hurt and his stomach muscles heaved, his arm around the bowl was the only thing holding his body up.

He managed to swipe the flush, with only a couple of swats required for him to meet his target.

Then he drooped lower, as the sound of the flush filled the room, exhausted and drained and shivering.

Hmmm… tiled floor, he stretched out on his belly, stretching out like a human starfish, the skin exposed above and below his boxers pressed hard against the glorious chill of it.

He pressed his sweaty face to it, with a faint groan, his cheek going pleasantly numb.

His mouth tasted like crap.

The shocking cool seemed to be calming his troubled stomach; the room was slowing to a ragged stop.

It was nice and dark. His eyes closed.

He either lay there ten minutes or two hours.

All he cared about was the fact that he wasn't feeling sick anymore.

It was only his dry mouth, growled and gravelled, which finally forced him to move, the need for water seeming suddenly important.

Like some health infomercial had been switched on in his head, one all about how to prevent hangovers and dehydration.

Fighting the cheery announcer version of his own conscience he dragged himself up. Slowly, cautiously, with the help of the side of the bath, conscious of the possibility of another dizzying head rush.

Once he had the standing thing down, and was fairly steady on his feet, he half stumbled, more like fell back downstairs.

His face was still numb, it felt like it only half responded to him.

Felt like he could slap it repeatedly, or slam a door on it and he'd never feel it.

Tumbling through the main room over all the scattered clothing littering the floor, he slumped against the fridge, before he hauled it open, knocking over several bottles, in a glug of water and plastic bouncing on the glass shelf.

He grasped one in his heavy-handed fist, tearing off the top, sheering the plastic teeth in a growl.

He drank like he hadn't in hours.

The plastic crunching and contorting under the suction.

Then once empty he dropped the bottle forgotten to the floor as he gasped harshly for breath. His forehead leaning against the fridge door in an effort to stay upright.

He rubbed his face, hand sliding down to rub his stomach, the ghostly memory of the tiled floor still clung to his flesh.

Sleep. Now the nausea was gone and sorted the need came sweeping over him again in a shoulder-slumping wave.

Suddenly the couch looked like the most comfortable place to rest in the world.

Forget hammock in Hawaii, feather bed in Alaska, camp bed under the Texas stars.

He'd take couch bed in Willows residence, Las Vegas, NV any night.

And he was more than happy about it. Lucky, relieved.

He stretched out, leaning his head on the pillow with an awkward twitching. He hitched his shoulders, wiggled his back, and shifted his legs, before just resigning himself to being mildly uncomfortable.

Catherine's house had new sounds; no ceiling fans, and no ticking clocks, there was a faint hum of the fridge and an even fainter gurgle from the fish tank.

It sounded like safety, like a real home should.

His eyes lulled.

The darkness was warm and his body wanted it so much.

Minutes later hoarse snores rose from his borrowed pillow.

**0000000000**

"Yes."

She was surprised she could get her voice to work. Her neck was still hot, wet and tingling from the attentions of his mouth.

Her eyes still felt heavy and sleepy like she was dreaming. Her blinking was slow and the world seemed to move in time with it.

She felt like warmed honey all over. Her heart had filled with the warmth as it sank deep from everywhere that they touched leaving everywhere gently hot and sensitised.

Dancing?

Sweet, old-fashioned man.

And nervous Grissom was a sight to behold. That look in his eyes, it made him younger, vulnerable, and she just wanted to hug him tightly, bury her face into his neck, feeling the scratch and tickle of his beard against her ear and hair, his solid chest against her nose.

Yet there was something more, something glittering deeper which made her knees even weaker and that was the real reason she was just hovering there, letting his arms and the countertop support her.

She said yes, was all his mind was shouting, as inside he felt like he was already dancing, uncoordinated as ever.

He took her hand, curling his fingers carefully around hers. Slim, cool, delicate.

She was smiling and meekly allowing him to guide her by the hand to the back door.

The wave of relief, which let him breathe again, was welcome.

Her fingers in his seeming so much smaller than he remembered and soft, so soft.

"What about your coffee?" She mumbled distractedly. Turning her head momentarily back to her little kitchen area.

What about his coffee? The little voice in her head intoned back to her in her own sarcastic attitude. Great thing to say, Sidle. What are you doing?!

He just smiled at her, his sweet, indulge me smile. A pleasant and familiar expression in this sea of a Grissom she felt she didn't know at all.

Oh yeah, right, this was more important! More important than coffee even!

Then the truth hit her. Coffee had been an excuse. She felt like she needed a good smack to the forehead for being so completely dim. God how long had it really been since she had been on an actual date! Coffee where dating was concerned never actually meant coffee, and here she was assuming that with Grissom coffee just meant coffee… it was exciting to think that maybe it didn't.

He gave her hand a gentle tug, the corners of his mouth quirking up as his head tilted towards the doorway.

Once there he reached out and easing aside the gauzy fabric curtain twisted the handle, ready to step outside.

Only to thump against the glass with his shoulder and bounce back, as the door held fast when he tried to push it open.

Beside him he felt Sara contort, her fingers squeezing his in reflex as she tried not to let the laughter inside her find a voice.

Oh right, of course. Locks Gilbert! She isn't an idiot after all. She does lock her doors at night.

Ahhhhhhhhh! It was true… Doomed to be geeky forever and ever and ever.

With a humiliated sigh his head dipped so that his chin rested on his chest.

Suave Gil. Real suave.

So much for being romantic.

He couldn't seem to do anything right where she was concerned.

Was it just because she was so important to him? Was that why he reverted back to the shy, early teen who had only watched girls like Sara from afar and longed.

Sara, still quivering gently with her laughter, felt her affections for him bloom even more sweetly.

Bumping his shoulder playfully, looking up at him from behind her curls she reached out her own free hand and with a quick click twisted the lock, before stepping back as if nothing had happened.

When he didn't move for a moment she gently squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

Taking her encouraging hint, he sighed quietly before he straightened his back and finally opened the door with ease and tugged her after him into the night air.

The faint wind, which whirled in a gentle vortex, caught her hair, tangling it about her face as they stepped out into the courtyard in the centre of Sara's apartment block.

The small space, protected in shadow most of the day from the intensity of the sun was a small oasis. Filled with pots of plants and rock arrangements. Little pathways meandered through the foliage.

Light filtered through her open doorway, and down from one or two of the apartments above hers, but most were asleep at this late hour.

The faint music trickled over them, both swaying as they walked, until Grissom tugged her gently to him, shy face dipped, romantic gentleman through and through.

She felt his palm return to her lower back, her other hand, still in his, was raised, and when he tilted his chin to look up at her again he was smiling. The pose was archaic and formal, but the atmosphere was anything but.

She returned his smile, eyes alight.

She drifted closer, sliding her arm around his back, their feet finding the inherent rhythm between them as they swayed close, upper bodies brushing gently every so often.

Sara sighed in contentment at the sheer pleasure of the moment.

She was humming softly to the music, so familiar to her.

It was so romantic she had to be dreaming. On any other day this would have seemed trite, embarrassing, cringe worthy, but this day, for right now, it was perfect. So perfect she must be dreaming.

Maybe she hadn't gone to meet the others at all tonight, instead of all the chaos and rushing about and the almost destroying of her friends and her car, she had instead fallen asleep on her couch, book in hand as she had done several times recently.

Yeah, surely that was more likely than this, that she had dreamed all this romance.

That it was all in her head that she was swaying in slow lazy circles around her garden with Grissom, his warm touch on her back, his strong hand laced with hers.

He moved closer, his nose brushing tenderly against hers. Making her hum irregular, turning it into a rumbly sigh.

Oh he was real.

Her lips spread in a languid smile.

"This I'm afraid," he began, whispering softly, "is a little more my style."

"Huh?"

"The dancing." He admitted with a shrug of his shoulders.

Shaking his head as she tilted her face to look up at him her curiosity evident.

"I… I…" he sighed. "I've wanted to ask you to dance all night." He finally forced out.

She could have sworn his cheeks had pinkened, but in the shadowy dark she couldn't be sure.

He sent her spinning out, and she giggled softly as he spiralled her, before pulling her tightly back into his warmth.

"Then why didn't you?" She uttered dreamily without thinking, before she realised and carried on shaking her head, "Oh, yeah… of course!"

"No, I know that we're… we're just… and that the others were there, but I'm no dancer. Certainly not up to moving to anything like they played there! And next to guys like Nick and Greg… men over a certain age don't dance in places like that. It's not pretty and I'm also pretty sure that there's a law against it." He finished with roll of his eyes and another shrug of embarrassment.

She pursed her lips teasing him. "You're doing just fine right now."

He smiled that indulgent smile again and she rolled her eyes at his disbelief.

She couldn't believe a man as wonderful as he could be, and he could be when he made an effort, still had so many hang-ups. Although it was sweet and extremely endearing, in a way it made him the man he was. It was reassuring too, made her feel more comfortable about her own insecurities, of which she had many.

She sighed again, brushing her own nose against his just as he had before, her eyes lulling closed contentedly.

He huffed a warm breath over her face, before he smiled too.

"Hey, Sara," he murmured. "Look up."

At his whispered words she tilted her head, her mouth falling open in the sweetest awe as she took in the sight above them.

Across the small square of sky left visible above them there was a rain of stars, tumbling, dazzlingly across the black expanse of heavens.

If this wasn't a sign, or at least perfect timing…

"Falling stars." He murmured, always the teacher, but he wasn't watching the stars.

It was the woman before him that had captured his undivided attention.

He could see the shooting stars glittering across her widened eyes. Her mouth open with mesmerised surprise. She looked younger, entranced and so beautiful.

He watched the stars fading away in her eyes.

Then he moved.

The palm cradling her back, slid whisperingly up the silk, over the arch of her shoulders, before tangling in her hair, fingers carefully curving to the back of her neck. Their joined hands fallen forgotten swinging idly between them.

His motion broke her trance, her chin lowering so she met his gaze again and she faltered, caught now by the look in his eyes, a show just as powerful as any Mother Nature herself could display.

He was still moving closer, never breaking the gaze, even as their eyes slipped lower, dreamily as the moment progressed.

Then their lips met.

It was the moment they had both been waiting for all night.

It was the barest brush of sensitive flesh, but both felt it right through them.

His fingers tightened reflexively in her hair as the jolt of pleasure at the contact lit fire through him.

His touch a strong caress in counterbalance with the intimately gentle stroke of his lips on hers.

Over and over, caress after caress, side to side. Barely touching, teasing and driving them both wild.

She opened her eyes, just barely, just for a moment. She had to see him. To see him so close up he was a warm blur. To know it was really him, that this was really happening.

She leant closer, curling her body to his, their joined hands breaking as she lifted hers to touch to his bearded cheek. Her touch light and personal.

Her mind was reeling blissfully, her groan as their bodies pressed together, opened her mouth to his and he echoed the sound, their kiss heating up, warm and wet.

She couldn't hear the music anymore, but they were still swaying, the friction between them sending frissons of ache lower and deep.

Her breasts brushing teasingly against his chest were stirring something extremely male in him. The silky texture of her hair entwined about his fingers, the satin soft of her lips.

Her heartbeat was joining with his to make their own beautiful harmony, as his tongue brushed softly against her upper lip.

The pleasure of the contact tilted her world.

Her fingers fisted in his blue shirt, feeling his heartbeat rapid beneath the cotton.

She felt dizzy and dreamy and sleepy, and she never wanted it to end.

Their tongues and their lips explored. Only their second kiss, but instinct was their guide and they were well to trust it. He was gentle and curious and she tasted sugar sweet.

She tugged on his upper lip, suckling it, hearing his breath catch in reaction, the warmth of his gasp filling her own mouth. Before their tongues tangled again, the rub and tease pulling her belly tight.

Then he was pulling away.

The wave of cooler air, refreshing and both welcome and unwelcome all at once.

He kept returning, dipping in for gentle pecks, close mouthed kisses as she swayed still reeling, her body feeling weak and bewildered.

Before he finally rested his forehead to hers for a moment, before with a final light, lingering kiss she dipped her head, her forehead supported by his shoulder, his hands still caressing her hair as they allowed their breathing and hearts to slow.

"I can't believe I almost lost you."

Her murmur was so soft he only just caught it.

She had thought the words but never meant to speak them out loud. Dreamy, heated, relaxed, only half aware.

He took a pause as he tried to process her meaning.

Confused he cupped her face in his palms, lifting her to his study.

She merely blinked, until realization crossed her expression at this eyes darting her face in search of answers.

She had spoken aloud.

Truth time.

But before she could open her mouth to explain he was already speaking.

"Sara," his fingers were caressing her cheek. "I'm so sorry about our misunderstandings earlier."

She shook her head frantically, cheeks bumping into his palms.

"No, no…"

He frowned.

"That's… that's not what…" she stumbled, her words failing her as they always seemed to when it was important. She took a calming breath. "I almost lost you when you…" her words faded out as she was suddenly hit by a wave of hot emotion, her vision swam as her tears welled.

The look in his eyes wasn't helping, concern mixed with fear. He was stroking her hair, her face.

"The ransom, the explosion…"

She was beginning to shiver, her stuttering increasing.

"I thought I'd lost you before we even got a chance to…"

Her words faded out as she pressed her face back into his shirt, the cotton muffling them.

She continued to talk, "I couldn't remember the last time I saw you, spoke to you, I couldn't even remember," but her words were only half heard as his vision was overcome with flashes of crystal clear memory, the out of the way building, the man in the suit, the weight of the money in the bag, the smell of the blood, the heat, the dust, the mind blowing explosion, the taste of raw fear.

His own last glance of Sara before he left. Through the glass walls of the lab, she had been standing deep in conversation with Warrick, and the powerful twinge of guilt he'd felt at sneaking away from her to avoid the confrontation he knew would undoubtedly occur…

"When I heard you were going to deliver the money I didn't believe it," her words were filtering through again, bringing him back to the safety of the lush green courtyard oasis and the warmth of the woman in his arms.

"I tried to find you. I couldn't find you, I looked everywhere, but you had already gone. I couldn't believe you had gone and you hadn't said goodbye."

"I couldn't."

His voice was so pained, gravely, deep.

She lifted her face to see him clearly again, the movement dislodging a lone tear, which trickled down over the backs of his fingers. Her forehead was crinkled with the effort to restrain the other tears, which longed to fall.

"I couldn't," he repeated. "If I had said goodbye it would have been so final. I had to stay positive, or they won. I had too. I couldn't do it; I couldn't let you talk me out of it. You were the only person with the power to do that and I knew you would have."

For a moment she just couldn't speak.

Then she blurted. "I cried. When I couldn't find you. I couldn't stop crying. I should have been working, searching for Nick, going over the clues we had again and again, but I couldn't. My mind was… I just waited. I found myself in your office, and I don't even remember walking there, but there I was and it helped. It helped to hide in there, surrounded by all your things, felt like you were almost there with me."

Her voice died again. She sniffed, over-talking and embarrassing herself again, but he wasn't looking at her with pity, his expression instead spoke volumes of their shared pain.

His lips dipped to hers to bestow a gentle kiss.

"Then we heard about the explosion. And then finding you alive…"

She was shaking her head.

"I saw you sitting in the open back of the ambulance, fighting off the attentions of the paramedic. You were alive and injured, in shock and hurting. You have no idea the willpower it took not to run to you."

"Yes, I do." His smile was soft, he kissed her again. "I do. I felt it towards you, the moment I saw you again."

She whimpered at his words, at such emotional honesty from the man who had held back from her for so very long.

"I meant what I said earlier, Sara. I'm not leaving."

"Good," she whispered, a small, watery smile appearing on her lips, and in her eyes.

"You don't have to worry. I didn't understand why you were so worried before, when you couldn't find me, back at the bar."

She cut him off, "It was like searching for you all over again." She murmured in conformation. Her lips opening to say more, but for a moment no more words came out.

Then she took another breath before she whispered, "I promise," she paused again, "to try harder to memorise and be thankful for every single moment of my life. Even the simple quiet ones."

"Me too." He breathed.

He brushed his nose against hers again, feeling the streaks of her tears on her cheeks.

He cradled her tighter, sighing softly.

He breathed her name.

Then he was kissing her again.

Soft brush to start before they deepened, clinging to one another, the emotion between them raw and spilled and soothing and sweet.

A short while later she pulled back, lifted her head, her sleepy eyes beaming, before she tilted her head back towards her apartment, and wordlessly, hands still entwined he followed her back inside.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer:** _Okay – so season 9 has officially started and I know I promised faithfully, CBS, to give them back to you then… but your naughty little CSI's…what can I tell you…they have currently managed to get themselves into some downright interesting situations and on the brink of some pretty pivotal and life-changing moments… and… I JUST CAN'T!! The readers would kill me… and at the moment… I'm more scared of them!!! He he!!_

**Author Notes: **_Okay – so on a completely random note (well, its slightly related!) I am still on my quest to watch the rest of seasons 6 and 7, which I haven't watched yet, and I watched Roshomama this week… Utter genius. I don't think I have ever laughed harder at CSI, who knew they'd get away with an episode like that!! I started laughing at Grissom's:'I'll talk, you guys just look apologetic' and I just couldn't stop! That is the kind of thing we need in season 9 – a huge amount of light comic relief!_

_Anyway, I ended up writing a short (well, single chaptered!) story based on that episode called _**_'Sidle, I do. Sidle, I don't.'_**_ (Which you can find through my profile if you fancy a read!!)_

**_THANK YOU_**_ all so much for all your reviews and _**_HELLO_**_ to all the nice new people who are still putting me on their alert lists! I love you guys!!_

_p.s… don't worry this isn't the last chapter ;)_

_**Stars in Motion**_

By Rianne.

_Chapter Seventeen._

Her touch guided him back inside, the coaxing of her fingers light and reassuring as they caressed over his, restless and enjoying the touch.

The door clicked closed behind them.

With a cheeky smile he halted her, lifting a finger, before he turned and flicked the door lock, with a subtle wink.

His reward was her beautiful smile. Her lips quirking, her eyes crinkling.

See, he could laugh at himself. The moment loosened his nerves some.

But there was more to the simple gesture as there always was with him.

Beyond the humour in his eyes she could make out what she could only describe as a predatory gleam. Possessive, protective, primitive.

And she was trapped with him, looking at her like that, in an enclosed space.

She swallowed visibly.

Her body language was clear and open. There was no doubt in his mind what she was offering.

If he wanted it.

Oh, yes, he wanted it.

Around them the room was still mostly dark and each object was haloed in shadow, or if close to the lamp, bathed in glow.

The amber-burnt tints picked up the highlights in her hair and the tone of his skin against the deeper private of the shadows.

The music still played softly, rising from the radio, floating in the air.

She turned to him, leaning her lower back against the back of an easy chair, lazy smile belying the way her insides shook.

"So…" she asked quietly, tilting her face up to his.

He smiled too.

"So…" he echoed with a slight raise of his brows.

Their eyes played, dancing and darting over one another as the air between them grew warmer and stimulating.

You could practically hear their combined hearts beating.

The bravery, which had been so easily harnessed in pulling him back inside, was rapidly vanishing as her nerves grew.

She hummed softly. Her finger grip on the chair flexing uncertainly. Her palms suddenly uncharacteristically sweaty.

What was he waiting for?

She had made the first move, put the invite out there, made her feelings known.

It was his turn now.

Unable to stay still any longer she leant her head back, rolling her shoulders with a deep sigh.

Exposing her throat.

He couldn't drag his attention away from the graceful column of it.

She was waiting. Waiting for what?

Well he knew the answer to that, didn't he?

He knew exactly what to do, but he was just standing there, grinning like an idiot.

Surely he wasn't awake.

Surely he was dreaming all this.

Surely when he reached out to touch her again she would vanish like the perfect mirage?

His hands lifted, he brought them together until his fingertips only touched in a star-like formation, the way he often did when he was timidly, cautiously, considering something.

He took a step toward her, drawing her attention back down to him.

There was something he had to hear first.

"Sara?"

There was such reverence in the inflections of his voice.

When he murmured her name he actually saw her breath catch.

"Are you sure?"

He whispered, his body a very tempting, extremely distracting, hairsbreadth away from hers.

She nodded meekly, barely a motion, unable to speak, the serious, darkly heated, look in his eyes snatching her words and her breath all at once.

He didn't move, his eyes pinning her, the blue ache questioning the depths of her soul, his breath rhythmically fanning against her face.

In the near darkness she looked different, no not different, the same, familiar, but the more he drank her in, the more things he found he had never noticed before. Things he had never had the permission to, things he had never been allowed close enough to actually linger and discover.

Her chest rose and fell, brushing against his, over and over.

Still waiting.

This time her nod was more determined, more sure.

"Yes," she just managed to whisper, a breathless whimper, before his lips found hers again with slow open-mouthed kisses.

Intimate, sucking pulls. Drawn out contact, hot and hungry, moments of desperate connection. The sounds of their lips meeting and retreating wet and hot in the air. Pulling away, taking in the others expression, her eyes lulled and sleepy, his dark and heavy-lidden, before finding themselves falling helplessly back into one another.

She relaxed weakly against him, drawn to him, his large warm fingers laying claim to the side of her neck, sending trembles of sensation loose down her spine.

She opened herself to him; sighing intimately against his mouth as her knees gave and she instinctively slid her arms about his neck for support. Pressing her body into his, moulding them together without even the space for air between them.

The closer their bodies were the slower their kisses became, as they found their joint body heat lulling them to just this side of delirium. Their mouths stroked, caressed, unhurriedly, even more leisurely than before, but the storm between them was growing, rapidly gathering momentum as the walls long built to hold back their emotions began crumbling, falling brick by brick to crash smithereens at their feet.

Their control was slipping and gloriously so.

It was so easy.

So easy to act on impulse, the heat rising in their blood, tumbling and dancing each cell around their bodies, setting synapses on fire, making them feel.

Reminding them that they were indeed alive.

A hand slid to her waist and took up stroking her through her clothing restlessly, his thumb catching the silky fabric, snagging it, lifting it away from her skin as just one finger dared to caress under the material, over the even softer, especially sensitive, flesh veiled there in a toe curling tease.

She squirmed, gasping a laugh into his mouth, as her ticklish nature came into dichotomy with her hungry desire to be touched.

Warm flesh, on his fingertip.

Warm, intimate, usually covered, female flesh.

Alive, wriggling, ticklish beneath his touch.

No latex gloves.

He was finally touching the only other person he had longed to touch and it was more than just a physical connection.

She was offering all of herself to him. Body, mind and dare he hope for it, heart?

It was terrifying.

Awe-inspiring.

Unbelievable.

Incredible.

He realised he had never, ever, wanted anything this passionately before in his life.

And then as she bit gently into his bottom lip the sharp sweet pleasure took away the remainder of his thought prowess.

His body strained primal against hers.

He couldn't prevent the grin that formed when the press of his hips to hers made her break her lips free and elicited a delightfully husky groan from her throat.

That certainly was a boost to his vulnerable ego.

Another press of his lips to hers and then he pulled back a few millimetres to let her breathe, sucking in his own air as his fingers sliding teasingly down her neck, causing her to lean into his tickling caress, exposing the long graceful expanse of flesh to him and he took full advantage.

His lips slid a molten path from the hot of her swollen mouth to the warm, sweet, salt of her throat and he couldn't even describe the noise she made. It tightened his grip on her, made her throat quiver under his mouth.

Her head rolled on her shoulders, offering him more and more of her vulnerable skin as he felt trembles wrack her spine and the throbbing of her trying to swallow her moan beneath his parted lips, before she gave in and allowed another heated sound to spill into the air around them.

She just couldn't think. Everything in the world had shrunk down to the feel of his mouth, the taut possessive grip of his strong fingers and the sensual scratch of his beard against her most defenceless skin.

He growled against the flesh, before gasping too, as her thankfully short nails sank reflexively into his shoulders at the intensity of it all.

Rising to his full height he straightened his back, lowering his forehead to rest against hers. Slowing them down. Both of them panting desperately.

Trying to catch her breath she tried to speak, but her mouth just opened and closed as her body throbbed and her heart rang loud in her ears.

How did you do this again?

How did you further this little dance that they had been doing?

How did you invite a man to your bed?

She was ashamed to admit that she had never made that offer sober in her life. Not the first offer anyway, not an invite to a new… lover...

In the past she had either been asked, or at least already dragged to bed by this point. Or if not she had clung happily to the confidence alcohol brought her and winged it like the best of them.

But this was different in so many ways; she had never been friends with the man beforehand, however much she might have kidded herself about that.

She had never wanted any of them this badly, or this deeply.

She had always had the option of never calling them back, or ever again if it was a disaster. She'd always had her out, her exit, her escape routes planned and executed before hand. Control freak, commitment-phobe, vulnerable, frightened…

So how did this go again?

Her brain was swimming in a sea of arousal and Grissom.

It was her place.

As it was her place, was she supposed to actually show him where the bedroom was?

Her place wasn't that palatial. Surely he had guessed that it could only be one of two rooms off her main room. Bedroom. Bathroom. Main room. End of tour.

But Grissom was old fashioned, or at least he seemed to be.

Would he want to be the one who led?

Would she seem… her brain swirled for a word… wanton?

As it hid from several other words… desperate… needy… naïve…

Was he waiting, right now, for his invite?

Wait, did she even make her bed before she left the house?

Oh!!

Couldn't they just go back to the kissing?

They clearly knew how to do that!

His fingers were still caressing her, just slight affectionate motions over her clothes, against her skin. Like he just couldn't stop, didn't want to break the contact with her.

It was soothing, tingly, distracting.

Her body began to sway in his arms, sleepy and contented.

God, she was almost asleep on her feet here.

The dark and the warmth and the stroking was nearly relaxing her into oblivion.

He waited there, trying to be satisfied with just being able to touch her, just being allowed to gently rub her back and touch her soft curls.

He had felt her slow in his arms, had tightened his hold on her to keep her steady, close, safe.

How did he ask her where this was going to end tonight?

How did he do that again?

He had thought that they had already been over this. That a decision had been made, but when he had been expecting to move to her bedroom, she had instead in typical Sara style, not done what he had imagined.

She'd lounged herself against the chair, opened herself to him there.

God, he loved how she lounged, lazy, sexy, gracefully.

And slowly but surely the motions had built and then slowed between them.

Did this mean she had changed her mind?

Of course he would immediately accept it, if she had.

It was just the not knowing, and a certain other bodily reminder, which was making him impatient for an answer, or a motion, or a sign, or something, he could go with.

What did she want?

God, what had it been… about ten, maybe fifteen years since he had been the one to seduce a woman? It had seemed that the women he had been with since then had always been one type, the type who took control, who were so confident that he didn't have to step up, or make much effort.

Easy relationship one-o-one. Relationships where the women didn't necessarily expect him to call back.

And that had been fine by him, he hadn't loved them. They hadn't been the kind of women you got attached too. But he had soon gotten bored. It had been slowly soul destroying to have sex without emotion.

He had decided that if he couldn't have more, didn't want more with such a woman, then he didn't want any. It was simpler that way.

But this was Sara.

This was a whole world of different.

This mattered.

This mattered more than anything had to him in so long.

This wasn't the kind of thing you rushed.

If she was slowing, maybe she wasn't waiting for him to make a move, maybe she was looking for a way to say he should go home, or to suggest he sleep on her couch?

What if he had misunderstood what she had offered, and what if she had misunderstood his question when he had asked it?

Was she having second thoughts after seeing him throw back all those whiskies?

Did she think she might be taking advantage?

That was so Sara!

Oh why had he had so much to drink anyway?

Not that he felt drunk now. Now he just felt good, apart from the nerves and the fear and all the confusion!

Looking down at her, her face a lovely soft blur, he found his gaze locking with her mouth again.

The soft, swollen, petals of her lips.

He would never forget the feel of them on his.

He heard her sigh before she was moving.

Lifting her forehead from his she smiled gently at him, enjoying seeing the smile reflected back at her.

She withdrew her hands lingeringly, and sensing her pulling away, he stepped backwards letting her move away from the chair she had been leaning against.

Oh, his mind thought. Okay.

Mild disappointment was something he was used too. He could shoulder it without it being painfully obvious. He straightened his shoulders, resigned.

"Should I go?"

His voice was so quiet, even after the silence, barely broken by their warm breathing.

He heard her take a breath.

The fog of arousal beginning to lift for both of them.

Then she was turning back to him.

"No!"

Her word tumbled startled, surprised from her lips. Her head was shaking frantically, and at her sides her fingers were too.

"No," she repeated, quieter this time. Reassuring him, but her eyes were dipped.

He let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

He nodded, dipping his head, until he had her attention and she looked at him again, finding his eyes looking up at her, smiling.

She was trembling.

"All right," he heard himself say, knowing he should say something, but not really knowing what.

She looked terrified!

This was supposed to be a romantic, sensual, pleasant experience.

She looked a little like she was headed to the dentist for a root canal.

Her hands were twisting together, her foot was moving too, always the fidget, she'd never shake that habit.

"Sara," he whispered. He struggled a moment longer, but his smile was turning into a chuckle. "You wouldn't think we were two of the most intelligent and educated people in the northern hemisphere!"

She pulled a face at him, trying not to laugh too.

This really wasn't that funny.

It was more like sad.

Depressing.

Hideously embarrassing.

He sighed.

Why couldn't they do this thing right?

But what was right?

It was their first time.

The thought sent a shiver through her.

A part of her wanted to shake all over, like a dog clearing the water from its coat, in an effort to shake the nerves she felt.

But she restrained. Best not let him see the truly crazy side of Sara Sidle before he had too.

Their first time!

It was the moment she had imagined so many times, and yet never thought they would ever make it too.

It wasn't really any wonder that they were both stumbling like this.

It was the blind leading the blind.

The vulnerable loner leading the vulnerable loner.

But the more time she had to think about this the more she wanted him to take the lead.

The thought came to her uncushioned by her conscience. If she couldn't be honest about something like this when could she?

The deep, vulnerable, feminine part of her longed to be seduced by him.

She wanted him to seduce her.

With words, touch, heat.

She wanted to loose herself to the magic of the moment.

She was sick of being the one in control of this. If this was going to happen it would be his doing. She had spent their entire relationship being the one doing the chasing, the asking.

But how did she ask for that?

"Okay," she heard him say, "lets try this another way."

He advanced on her, and she fought against the way the intense look in his eyes almost convinced her to take a step backwards as she was seized by the unadulterated heat and tenderness in it.

Halting before her he reached out his palm as if to ask for a handshake.

"Gil." He invited, waiting patiently until she hesitantly reached her own hand out.

He clasped it in his, warm and tight.

Her face tilted, a small smile spreading amongst the bemused confusion.

She twisted her mouth in that cute way she had, studying him, pursing her lips and taunting him at the same time.

She straightened her shoulders.

"Sara." She returned, her voice sounding clear and calm.

Her fingers squeezed his.

There," he continued with a fresh look on his face. "A new start."

He moved closer again, relinquishing his hold on her hand to step forwards into the warmth of her personal space.

Watching as she shook her head slightly at his gentle silliness.

"No more nerves," he instructed, trailing his fingertips from her wrists, up her bare arms, watching her sensually draw breath.

"No more worries," he continued, his head shaking slightly as his fingertip trail ended in his cupping her face, intimately cradling her with his palms again.

"We're doing just fine."

"We just need to relax," he soothed, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, but drawing back before she could respond.

He watched her eyelids flutter open again.

"Come to bed with me."

Her insides shivered at his words.

She expelled a warm shuddering breath.

Her eyes narrowed just a flicker teasingly.

A delightful pattern of goosebumps rose to decorate her bare flesh.

His fingers caressed restlessly across her cheek.

Oh yes, she wanted to be seduced, and it looked like he had finally figured that out.

He stepped back, pulling her with him.

"Shall we?"

And before she had time to think any more of worries, or nerves and fear, she was being tugged in the direction of her bedroom by the man of her dreams, who had a huge, broad, somewhat geeky smile plastered all over his face.

How could she resist.

He paused by the doorway, and waited for her to catch up, before placing a palm to her back.

Oh, ladies first!

Always the charmer.

But he was stopping, leaning down to unlace and remove his shoes before he stepped into her bedroom. The simple considerate action touchingly sweet.

The bedroom was dark, much darker than the main room. Her blinds slitted so as to keep the midday sun from invading her precious snatches of slumber.

For a moment she felt that frantic desire to clean and tidy sweep her again, as they stepped over the threshold and into the most private room in her home.

And of course she had not made the bed.

Perfect!

Even in the darkness, her eyes swept quickly and she could see the glaringly obvious things she should have moved before inviting a man into her room. There were just some things a girl didn't need to frighten a guy with right away!

The unwashed, half finished, cup of coffee she had been drinking before she had left, which still sat at her bedside, right by the propped open romance novel… yeah that naughty one that she 'wasn't' reading…

Several items of clothing she had decided she didn't want to wear, during her terribly uncharacteristic what outfit to wear freak out, decorated the unmade bed.

There was a towel, which had once been about her head, in a heap on the floor.

Ohhh, and there was even a recklessly strewn black lace bra, which she had found too revealing to wear under tonight's top and dismissed in a hurry, laying on the top of her dresser.

Well, it was as good a time as any for him to learn that tidy, close to OCD, Sara Sidle got left at the lab when she came home for the day.

She turned to apologise, but found him watching her.

He was smiling, looking at her like she was the only thing that existed in the whole world.

She was being silly again wasn't she, but she still broke away a second, scrambling together the clothes, and the towel, snagging the bra, rolling them into a haphazard messy ball before dragging open the closet door and throwing them in there without looking, slamming the door quickly before they could avalanche out again.

He observed her behaviour from the doorway. Watching her fidget with the clothes and the bed only endeared her more.

He'd suggested that they not be nervous, but that was easier said than done and knew that.

She was the one opening her life up to him here. He had promised himself that he would fight down his investigative instincts, but he had longed to have a place to imagine her in when he thought of her, of them.

And this was certainly the most revealing room. It was more Sara than anything he had ever seen.

It was a nice bedroom, cosy, warm, small and intimate like the rest of her place, but dominated by a massive bed.

Cushions, blankets, pillows upon pillows, deep dark outer covers with inner cream sheets and so much space.

Indulgent comfort. Nothing like he had expected.

Turning back to him, stepping away from the closet door, she reached for the bed cover, lifting the nearest edge to her to smooth it back over the bed.

"I was just letting it air…" she lied with a cheeky grin and an awkward shrug, he didn't believe her for a moment, his hand reached out and stopped her smoothing motions.

His touch encouraging her to stand straight again, to forget the tidying.

Drawn together they found themselves in one another's personal space again.

They had always done that. Gravitated together. Stood far too close to one another.

It had driven him to distraction sometimes when he had tried to concentrate on the evidence only to have her lean so close that he could feel the heat waving off her skin.

She tilted her chin towards him, letting her eyes slide closed inviting.

They hadn't kissed in what four or five minutes and already she missed it.

But she was taken aback to feel his body tense in surprise, and she blinked her eyes open again as instead of leaning down and placing his lips where she wanted them, he was leaning closer to look over her shoulder.

Bemused she turned her head to let her gaze follow his.

He was looking at her nightstand, she felt her cheeks blushing, oh god, her book.

Caught reading bored housewives dirty fiction.

She opened her mouth to explain only for him to reach past her shoulder, and right past the book and the unfinished coffee to snag one of the two photo frames that stood on her nightstand.

Oh, the picture.

He was cradling the frame in his hand, tilting it towards the moonlight coming in through the slatted blinds.

The look on his face captivated her. She had never seen him so touched by anything.

He took a step back, and feeling the mattress press into the back of his thighs, he sat. A moment later she followed. Her shoulder touching his, thighs pressing.

The picture was of them. Taken more years ago than she would like to have counted.

Taken the day that they had said goodbye to one another in San Francisco.

His teaching stint had been over; he had been getting on a plane back to Vegas that night. She had taken so many photographs that day. She'd considered herself quite the amateur artist in those days. Her little hobby had been quite the excuse too, a perfect opportunity to tag along and escort her soon to be ex-teacher about the sights and sounds of the world famous wharf and bay.

The photograph in the frame had been the last shot captured that day, taken by a fellow tourist. The Golden Gate Bridge larger than life in the background, the foreground capturing the fragile and exciting newness of a relationship which would come to dominate the majority of her adult life.

He had been smiling, barely restraining a roll of his eyes at the tourist who had insisted that he took a picture of them, when Sara had been so obliging in snapping a few of him and his wife. He had been wearing a casual shirt, whilst she had been trying not to laugh, never one to enjoy being in front of the camera, but the moment he had leaned close she had been willing to forgo that.

The actual taking of the picture had been over in seconds. He had stepped away from her, dropped the arm that had slipped with such ease about her waist. Had stepped back into his role as teacher and lover of distance.

But it had been a moment captured for posterity.

It had only been after she had remembered to develop the film a month or so later that she had come across it, and been mesmerised by the single snapshot and all the mysteries and secrets it held.

As mesmerised as he was right now.

She had always meant to get it copied, to send him one, but somehow time had slipped away from her, and then she had come to Vegas and things had changed between them and after a while she was ashamed to admit that she didn't want to taint the emotions she felt when she looked at the picture, by seeing his dismissal of it. So she had never taken the chance to give it to him, even when it had resided in her draw and she had been unable to even bring herself to look at it.

He remembered this. His fingertip traced the frame. They both looked so much younger. The years and the stresses of the job having taken their toll. His hair was darker; hers was long, a little wild after being swept by the Pacific Ocean breeze.

They looked happy. They looked like they had belonged together. Caught at just the right time, in just the right moment.

She had this, had framed it and set it close to her.

The sweet feeling of it was mildly twinged with jealousy though. He wanted it. He didn't want to part with this picture.

It was a mere snapshot from another life, but it encapsulated the beginning. The moment Sara Sidle and her ponytail and her cute smile with her teeth with the gap had changed everything.

The crossroads.

And here they were hovering at the crux of another.

So many years after the last one.

But this time he was making the right decision. This time he was saying yes.

He wasn't ever going to part from her again because of fear and a few meaningless inhibitions.

He loved her.

Wow.

Her fingers reached out, capturing his bearded cheek in her gentle palm. Bringing him back to her.

She didn't speak; she merely lowered her fingers to his arm, eased the frame from his careful hands, placing it back to her nightstand where it belonged.

He was reaching for her before she even began to turn back to him. His touch sliding around her back, drawing her body close to his.

Their mouths met at the beginning of a sigh, their arms clutching tighter.

With gentle pressure he eased them down to the bed, the softness of it felt like they were sinking.

Who cared whether she had made it or not! It was soft and inviting and it smelt like her, warm, sweet and overwhelming.

Their mouths played, slow, lazy explorations of lips and hot tongues as she lifted her legs, toeing off her heels, letting them drop to the floor with two rhythmic clunks, as both of them slowly climbed onto the bed.

The ease she felt as she wound her legs and arms around his body was what proved to her that this was the right thing to do. His return embrace both supporting and tenderly light.

The feel of him, hot through his clothes, male, strong, stirring her blood with desire.

He pressed against her from above all the way from hip to shoulders, with one leg easing its way between her jean clad ones.

She moaned happily, encouragingly, as his explorations of her slid lower. The hand in her hair tilting her head so he had full access to the sensitive skin of her neck.

She continued to encourage him, running her hands up and down his back, clutching and massaging in an affectionate rhythm.

The arm under her waist allowing her to arch up towards his lips as his beard heightened the caresses.

She heard him sigh softly as his kisses slowed. His body weight relaxing onto her more as their intimacy grew.

But the next noise from him was unexpected.

He snored.

It wasn't a sigh, or a groan.

It was a full out freight train rattle of a snore.

NO!

Her eyes opened. Her body stiffened. Her mouth formed an O.

She stared at the ceiling above her head.

He hadn't.

He would not dare.

She lifted her fingers to wind them into his hair, stroking through the rough curls, trying to coax those lips back into action.

For her efforts she was rewarded with another rumbly snore.

He was out for the count.

Her eyes closed again, this time in disbelief.

Under him her chest suddenly began to shudder as she tried desperately to control the waves of laughter that shook her.

She could not believe it.

He was asleep.

Asleep!

She was going to kill him!!

And to make matters a million times worse, she was effectively trapped.

Not that she didn't enjoy the warm press of his body, even more so when he was awake, but as he relaxed further and further into sleep he was becoming heavier and heavier.

With another sigh, she pressed against his shoulders, but he didn't move.

Stiffening her body she pressed again, and managed to slide sideways some.

Oh this was going to take forever, and it wasn't being helped by the fact that his all seemed so amusing to her. Her laughter was making her weaker, but she just couldn't help it.

After several more wiggles, and some powerful heaves she managed to coax him into a roll, eventually settling him on his back. Thank goodness her bed was big.

Finally free she lay beside him, watching his chest rise and fall with the deep cadence of his snores, before burying her face into her pillows as her laughter overwhelmed her once again.

What had they done… really… seriously…

What had she done to deserve this?!

Now they were managing to sabotage their romance all by themselves!

She wasn't sure if she was relieved, that they hadn't managed to get any further before he had fallen asleep, or if she was terribly disappointed.

In a way she was both. But she knew one thing. That whisky had obviously been a lot more potent than he'd thought, and that she supposed she could at least find relief in the knowledge that it hadn't been her lack of sex appeal that had sent him to sleep.

Oh he was going to be so embarrassed tomorrow.

The wicked Sara twinkle was so looking forward to that!

But she couldn't stay mad at him for long. He looked so sweet, slumbering like that. Like a great big cuddly bear.

God, he'd hate to hear that!

Feeling sentimental she leaned over him, caressing his beard, lowering her lips to press a soft kiss to his, and then one to each eyelid, feeling the vulnerable skin flutter beneath her touch.

Falling backwards onto her back again she ran a hand through her tangled hair.

Then with a sigh she eased her way off the bed, almost groaning when she felt how hot and tight her jeans felt.

Hot and frustrated.

Swaying about her room, trying to be quiet, careful not to wake him, although she suspected that might take a herd of elephants, or an atomic bomb right about now, she snagged a few items, fussing through her chest of draws before slipping away through her main room to her bathroom.

She didn't turn on the light; she just freshened up in the faint light from the main room. She could already imagine the way she looked right now, mussed, flushed, swollen and somewhere in the background aching, hungry. She didn't need to see it to be reminded of that!

She drew the pyjama shorts up her legs, cringing at them; they were sadly the nicest pair she had that were clean. Made of a pale pink silky material, but they were short. Really short and they showed off the knobbly knees she always tried her best to hide. The top was a simple, plain pink cotton vest top, that was okay. But the stupid shorts made her nervous; as she straightened she tugged them down ineffectively.

Oh, what did it matter? It wasn't like she slept, she'd be awake and dressed long before he woke up by the looks of things anyway!

Dragging out a face wipe, she worked at removing the many layers of make up Catherine had applied for her. Rubbing in different places until the wipe in her hands came away clean.

Quick swish of her toothbrush and she was heading back out again, finally giving into the need to tidy, she moved his shoes to by her front door, amused that he had lined them up side by side.

She flicked off the radio. A smile flickering across her face at the memory of dancing in his arms. Her own arms curled around herself as she curled one hand and pressed them to her lips to smother the excited squeal she wanted to let out.

Who in the world would have ever guess that tonight would end with Gil Grissom in her bed!

Okay, so it wasn't one hundred percent the way she had hoped it would be, but in a nice way it was better, he was there without the pressure.

It was another way that they could get to know one another.

Sleeping side-by-side together, being unconscious together, that was a pretty big deal.

She knew he snored now after all!

Pressing her palms over her eyes, then drawing them down her face she smothered another sigh, followed by another huff of disbelief, which shook her shoulders.

He'd fallen asleep on her! Gil Grissom, man who could forgo sleep for days!

Just wait till he woke up.

Shaking her head, with a wry smile she continued to tidy.

Sorting away the twin mugs that still stood side by side unused on her kitchen countertop. Two. A pair. Partners.

She cleared away the coffee pot, the granules, swept the spilt sugar crystals away into the sink, but not before she had run her own finger through the cleared swipe he had left behind, sucking the crystals into her mouth again, just as he had.

She was being girlie and sentimental again, but why not! Who was there to see?

Once done she flicked off the light before coming to stand in the doorway of her room.

Mesmerised by the sight of the man in her bed.

Her man, in her bed!

He had curled himself over, was lying facing towards the centre of the bed on his side.

The snoring had stopped.

Thank goodness!

He had left her usual side of the bed free for her. Instinctively, as if he had known she liked to sleep there.

And what was she doing! Why wasn't she in there with him!

Taking a breath she crossed the last threshold, stopping at the end of the bed, to tug the tangled top sheet out from under his feet, wafting it up over his body, before she too slid in beside him.

She was just lowering her head to her pillow when he moved.

Her mouth fell open in a gentle gasp of surprise as he reached for her.

Instinctively wrapping his warm strong arm around her, drawing her close against his body.

Her gasp slid into a tender smile of pleasure, as he settled her so close that their noses brushed.

He was still sleeping.

Her heart swelled.

He liked to cuddle?

That was unexpected.

She couldn't believe how much she loved him.

Wow.

She'd never truly allowed herself to think that before, but right now it seemed so right.

She closed her eyes, relaxing every muscle into the warmth of his touch and the soft of the bed. Her hand finding a resting place over the beat of his heart.

The sleep, which had always been so hard in coming, for so long, swept over her in a blissful easy wave and she surrendered.

Warm, safe and happy.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: **Rianne does not own anything even remotely interesting. It's sad but it's painfully true. Some days she has her pride and dignity… others… not so much.

She would however like to thank Elvis and Bob Neuwirth for their input into this chapter!

**Author Notes:** *Creeps back… head dipped in shame. I would like to take this Author Notes to apologise and beg for forgiveness from all those who have been reading this story and have been waiting soooo long for me to continue this. I could make excuses all day, but I must face facts, I'm very, very, very late. Please forgive me!!

I'd like to **SHOUT OUT** and **THANK** all my readers and reviewers for all their support. I'd also like to make special mention of some who have not given up asking when this was coming back; _Was spratluridquimby_, _BernieJ_, _Anneruhland_, _Cwinky503_, _Shortie990_, _Sylvie T_, you guys are relentless, but I **THANK YOU**! ;)

This chapter is for _Monica_ (Mma63) I'm not sure if she is even still out there waiting, but this chapter is for you, thank you for reminding me of all that remained unspoken about Nick's recovery. Here's the first part of what I promised!

_STF: (Or Story So Far…)_ Set after Bodies in Motion and the events of Grave Danger. The gang have had a lot of alcohol and a little fun, out for the night at The Peppermill. Grissom and Sara's secret relationship is blossoming and they have returned to her place together. A drunken (and stressed out) Nick has been taken in by Catherine for the night.

**Stars In Motion**

_By Rianne._

_Chapter Eighteen._

A single bead of sweat streaked its way down his spine.

Spreading salty and wet.

Soaking into the cotton of his t-shirt.

That single bead was quickly followed by more.

Gliding from his hairline.

Tickling past his ears.

His shoulders squirming against the hot liquid sliding down his neck as stale air hit the moisture searing it cool against his flesh and spreading goosebumps.

It was dark.

Dark again.

Yet the darkness around him was receding.

Music was waving ripplingly into his consciousness.

Lifting his heavy head he blinked as he refocused his surroundings.

The air around him swinging into clarity.

His head swayed as his vision did.

First just a whirl of colours, predominately pink and blue and then clearer.

Shapes, seats, a table, drinks, plants.

Figures, voices, laughter.

Familiar, friends.

Of course, he was in the Peppermill.

But his body felt weighted, his shoulders sagged under the strain, his boots heavy like they were filled with cement.

Around him the band was rolling through the motions. Drum bass rhythmic and deep. Swaying and hypnotic and thunderously sweet.

Across from him Greggo was laughing, barely able to stop the mouthful of drink he had just taken from shooting out of his nose.

Catherine was chattering loudly above the noise of the band from behind her feather boa, her eyes gleeful and her smile true.

Grissom and Sara were leaning close to one another, the words passing between them curiously private and frustratingly lost beneath the bands pounding decibels.

Warrick was the epitome of collected, sipping on his drink, one arm casually draped over the back of the seat.

Nothing wrong there, but what had he been doing?

Surely he hadn't been so drunk that he had fallen asleep against the tabletop?

It was odd.

Very odd that they all carried on around him as if nothing was different.

Wait…he still had both eyebrows and a full head of hair… right?

A quick, surreptitious hand swipe confirmed that he did indeed and reminded him that he was no longer a frat boy with idiots for friends.

But it was odd.

He was still sweating; his hand came away from his forehead damp and salty.

Cold sweats. Blackouts. Loss of memory.

Stress.

Signs of stress.

Signs of imminent breakdown.

Just what all the pamphlets, the PD's PEAP overfriendly counsellor had thrust at him, had been talking about.

The warning signs.

Post Traumatic Stress.

Loosing his mind.

No. He was a Stokes Man.

Stable, dependable Nicky.

This didn't happen to men like him.

He must just be drunk and tired, so very tired.

Just closing his eyes for a few minutes to stop the alcohol spiralling in his system from spinning his world.

There was enough evidence to not be able to rule that out.

And it wasn't like this was the first time that this had happened to him.

Not if he was honest.

This feeling of discomfort and confusion was becoming quite a familiar one.

He felt he was living his life inside a cloud and there was no silver lining to be found.

But no, that wasn't completely true.

He was alive.

Alive.

Alive and so very thankful.

But he was still finding little piles of left over dirt in the corners of his mind and the spring cleaning his life needed in order for him to start over again strong was a slow exhausting progress.

Keeping up such pretences. Pretending to be okay, to be relieved and not completely terrified.

To have such possibility lie before him, a literal new lease of life and yet still be held back by the demons of the past.

He was so, so drained.

And so unimaginably tired.

It had been such a long time since he had slept.

Really slept, for more than mere minutes uninterrupted by horrors, fears and panic

So long that working himself into collapse was fast becoming the only way for him to rest peacefully.

But how he had fallen asleep here was curious.

The music was loud, really loud, maybe he had been hypnotized by the bass and its rhythmic beat.

Soothed by the lack of quiet, like a baby with a hairdryer who wakes up crying the moment you cut the power.

His dark thoughts and the haunted voice of his memories drowned out by the sounds.

Lost in the delicious flow of the white noise.

He was amongst friends here.

Maybe he felt safe.

Yet he remembered how that felt.

It felt like the warmth of his mother's arms as a boy.

It felt like curling up under a woollen blanket to watch a thunderstorm roll across the Texas sky.

It did not feel like this.

It did not feel like he had just lost nine minutes.

And now as he concentrated harder there seemed to be something he was missing.

Something pulling desperately at the strings of his consciousness, but just slipping out of his grasp as he tried to reveal it.

There was something…

There was something in the music too.

Something flowing through beneath the harmonious melody.

Snatches of another song.

Other words.

He cocked his head on a tilt to try and catch the painfully familiar lyrics that were surreptitiously melting into the surrounding sound.

"_Bright light city's gonna set my soul… gonna set my soul on fire…_"

For a moment the base line and low beat tempo messed with his mind before he realised that it was Elvis. Elvis again.

"_Viva Las Vegassssssssssss!_"

Warming into the overall melody until it was the dominant strain.

Well, when in Rome.

There wasn't anything all that odd about hearing that song in the town that inspired it.

But…

No, that wasn't it.

That wasn't what the flashes of déjà vu were trying to tell him.

"_Viva Las Vegas with your neon flashin' and your one arm bandits crashing…."_

Wait, hadn't he sung that to Catherine and to Sara?

"_All those hopes down the drain…….."_

But when?

Somewhere…

He had been dancing.

Spiralling around, and round, watching the ceiling spin like a record.

Free and laughing.

Lighter, happier.

The sound had echoed like he was in a cave.

"…_turning day into night time, turning night into day time…time…time…time…"_

But before he could take the time to truly think he was being pulled, a hand tightly gripping his arm, strong feminine fingers flexing in rhythm with the rampant storming beat.

"_If you see it once… you'll never be the same again!!"_

Never be the same again.

He wouldn't.

He'd never be the same.

But the grasping cool fingers were pulling and he allowed himself to be helplessly led.

Sara, her dark hair flying wildly around her face as she swayed, was hauling him amongst a crowd of fluidly moving strangers.

Swirling, dizzying, spin.

Rippling colours blurring and reforming, illuminating in throbs through the darkness.

The sweat was back, seeming to bead on his skin, flying, catching the light as it slipped over his fingers as he swiped across his brow.

Sara's eyes glittered in the blackness, deep and chocolate, then blacker, like she was strobing with the lights into pink and red and blue and green and wild.

There was someone else now too, inquisitive palms sliding about his waist, soft female curves pressing to his back, the phantom touch rising higher, over his pectorals.

Stroking and squeezing, laughter rippling through the body of the woman in control of those straying hands.

Catherine.

It was Catherine, swaying slow sensual sleek, turning his body to face hers, her hips meeting his in rhythmic swing.

Smiling.

Whoa! Wait!

These were his friends.

As much as they joked, as much as they harmlessly flirted and teased, they never danced with him like this.

But dancing they were.

Distracting, submitting, sinking deeper into the darkness.

Like he'd no will of his own.

Like he'd lost his fight.

Like he'd surrendered.

Blissfully floating in the sea of powerful sound.

"_It was Christmas in Las Vegas…_"

His head snapped up as the new lyrics strobed like lightning into his brain.

The words intertwining eerily with the rock band.

Those words.

Those innocuous yet deadly words.

Indelible on his brain.

But this wasn't the first time either.

Ever since his rescue he had thought he heard those words in every song, had thought the hospital nurses had hummed them as they went about their duties.

He had broken the radio dial off the dashboard in his car, violently hurling it into the street.

"_When the Locals' hit the town…_"

The heavy drums and deep bass thump not disguising the horror, the memories this song held, the terror it re-awoke, the pain it tore into his brain.

The lyrics scattered and thrown haphazardly into the mix, dancing into the notes like on a toxic breeze.

He turned his head, jerking round in a circle as if hunting out the sound.

His heartbeat was sharp and stabbing in his chest.

But the more he chased the more the truth eluded him.

Until he gave up.

What did he care?

He was helpless anyway.

Memories couldn't kill him.

Song lyrics alone could not drive him mad.

So instead he fought to ignore it, his grip tightening on the woman before him.

For a minute she was Catherine, then she tilted her head blurred and suddenly the quirky smile was Sara, then with the blink of an eye, Jessica, the cute cheerleader he'd dated in high school.

Shaking his head in time with the beat he closed his eyes and letting his head roll back on his shoulders let the world about him reset.

Giving up on why the world shimmered before him.

Damn those cocktails were stronger than they tasted.

Forcing his eyes open again, lids fluttering against the sharp flashes of colour he once again found the golden curls of Catherine against his cheek.

"_Theresa hit a streak and laid her waitress apron down…_"

He couldn't hear it.

He couldn't.

He concentrated on what the band was actually playing.

Some loud song with words he couldn't catch.

He moved the three of them closer to the staged area.

The volume rising.

Looking up at the band. The trendy clothes. The scruffy hair.

Yet the lead singer made him blink and look again.

For a moment he could have sworn he was looking at himself up there behind the microphone.

And he couldn't even sing a note.

Especially when he was under audience scrutiny; a certain incident at his second grade pageant had scarred him for life.

He shook his head to clear the image and the accompanying childhood trauma.

And concentrated on dancing.

Until something tickled the outside of his lower arm.

He twisted away from the sensation.

He was always feeling the ghostly remembrances of insects on his skin.

That was nothing new so he just shook himself.

Jerking slightly.

Knowing it was probably just a piece of one of the girl's outfits brushing contact as they moved.

But still he was unable to restrain the very human impulse to shudder away from the unpleasant.

And that memory was more than unpleasant.

Just thinking about it brought more and more ghostly tickles of memory to his exposed flesh.

But added to that, on the periphery of his vision, he could see small movements.

Movements that weren't part of the dancers and their motions.

Just snatched glimpses between the flashes of light.

He could be wrong, but it looked like bugs.

Crawling.

Swarming.

But he knew it wasn't.

It was just his mind making it up.

But those creatures, they were making their way closer and closer towards him between the intermittent flashes of light.

On their buggy little legs.

Their squirming little bodies creeping.

Glittering under the lights, shiny and black and red.

Grissom's idea of heaven and his own were very, very different.

God, mixing those stupid colourful cocktails with beer had been a big mistake.

He was going to be so sick later.

But now whilst he was still buzzing on the right side of the hallucinations he was going to close his eyes and dance.

Smile on his face.

Body gyrating embarrassingly to the music.

Shaking it like he just didn't care!

Head tilted back on his shoulders as he let the room spin.

Yet there was that sensation again.

Creeping delicate legs tickling through the hair on his lower arm.

He brushed it away.

But there were more and more.

Scratching and crawling.

Sending shudders of repulsion down his spine.

_"Hi CSI guy…"_

No. NO!

It was just in his head.

Just a trick of his brain.

No bugs.

No voices.

No hidden messages lurking under the songs.

Just the two beautiful friends in his arms.

Sara was closer now, curving herself to his back, all lithe strength and poised muscle beneath slippery silk, in hungry counterbalance to Catherine's softer flush to his front.

God, Grissom's glare alone would kill him if he caught him dancing with Sara like this!

But still the threesome kept swaying closer and closer, the room spinning round and round and round like it was never going to stop.

Maybe if he could get lost in this he would no longer hear the words, hear Elvis and his deep growl, hear the eerie polluting twang of Bob Neuwirth.

He didn't want too remember.

He wanted to have fun with his friends.

To laugh and dance and sing.

To drink till he fell down and to forget.

Yeah, that all sounded like heaven to him right now.

So he fell.

Deeper and deeper.

Tumbling into the strobing flashing lights.

Falling deeper and deeper towards the black.

But the itching was back.

The clamour of little legs and the tickle of insect feet.

His eyes jerked open.

But the sight he saw made his eyes wide in horror.

The dancers were gone.

The band was gone.

There was just him.

And thousands and thousands of bugs.

Swarming everywhere.

Over tables and the dance floor, over the chairs and left behind half finished glasses.

As the horror waved his veins he tried frantically to brush them away.

But the motion only enticed their bite.

And with a cry he surged.

Moving, desperately scrambling to higher ground.

The bar.

He climbed up on the bar, but the bugs were still coming.

Still threatening to consume and devour him bite by bite.

He was dreaming.

He had to be dreaming!

That was why he was back here.

Back in the Peppermill when he was sure he had left.

This was why he was covered in bugs that had materialised from nowhere.

It made sense now.

It made the disappearance of all the others make sense.

Made the music make sense.

Made the intimate way that Cath and Sara were dancing with him make sense!

Dream Nick liked the way they caressed his ego!

But dream or not the bugs were still coming.

Climbing his legs, under and over his jeans, stealthy and quiet in their attack.

Making him squirm and writhe in instinctive fear.

He knew keeping still would slow their attack, but his body wasn't responding.

Couldn't fight the urge to keep them away from his sensitive and vulnerable skin.

He just had to wake up!

WAKE UP!

He shook his head.

Hands coming up to try and slap his cheeks, to rouse his slumbering body and brain.

But it wasn't working.

The blows never seemed to make contact with his flesh.

Was there something else his mind needed him to see?

Shook his legs to try and dislodge the invaders.

Yet another noise was coming.

Growing louder and louder.

Echoing like thunder advancing through a stormy sky.

A huge aching creak.

Like the building around him was straining under the pressure of something.

Then there was light.

A flaring flash.

A bright and overwhelming light and all the bugs were scuttling for cover.

And he found himself alone, standing waveringly on top of the bar, his arms reaching skyward.

Reaching up for something.

Reaching for help.

Was he waking up?

Was that new brightness daylight streaming into his consciousness?

Please let it be daylight.

Yet that creaking was at near toe curling and eardrum bursting intensity.

It rolled nervousness through his belly and then there was something more.

Something ominous and heavy in the air.

He sank down, cowering into a ball.

Arms over his ears, trying to make himself small, trying to hide from the sound.

It was the roof.

The ceiling was literally lifting off the room.

And there were huge eyes peering down at him.

Giant and looming.

"_Hi CSI guy."_

No.

No. No. No. NO!

Then a hand was reaching down.

Fingers huge and grasping.

He tried to scramble away, but the fingers were far too quick for him.

It's a dream.

Just a dream.

A dream.

Dream.

But the big hand was heavy and strong.

It scooped him up like a tiny little ant.

Lifting him.

His legs flailing, his arms waving.

Helpless and captured.

And lifted.

Up, up, up and away into the light, and then there he hovered.

Until the grip without warning suddenly released him.

Letting him freefall.

Spiralling down.

Down, down into the darkness again.

And he fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Until all around him fell away.

Till all around him was quiet and black and he was alone.

Wait, he was alone?

He shifted.

His head turning.

He was sure his eyes were open.

Why was there nothing but blackness?

Why was there nothing but an infinite stretch of darkness?

Hey, this was what he had wished for!

Quiet.

Solitude.

Relief from his demons.

Yet there was something cold pressing against his back.

Under his back.

Something hard and unyielding.

Something uncomfortably familiar.

He lifted his arm, ready to support himself as he shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but his elbow made contact with something hard and cold, resistant and uncompromising.

The sound of his sharp contact with that restriction resounding with an echoing crack.

Jarring his funny bone, shooting pain down his arm, in spreading tendrils of white hot fire.

Making lights flicker in his field of vision as he howled in unrestrained pain.

Hearing the sound echo, waving out into the space that enclosed him.

Wait.

Enclosed him?

He made to sit up.

But his forehead slammed hard into something above him.

NO!

No no no no nonono!

This wasn't good. This wasn't happening again.

It couldn't be.

He got out of this.

Grissom.

Sara, Warrick, Catherine, Greg, Brass, Hodges, Doc Robbins, SuperDave, Mia, everybody.

They saved him.

He got out of here.

He didn't die.

He was free.

Rescued.

Yet, as he flailed wildly.

Frantically pressing against the restraints.

He found only that around him the evidence suddenly seemed too real.

And evidence doesn't lie.

People lie.

People lie to avoid the truth.

To avoid their fears.

To not have to admit to their weaknesses.

Lifting his fingers to his face he did indeed confirm that his eyes were open.

There truly was no light.

His head hurt.

A dull headache, more like a hangover thud, than that of a head injury.

Just like all the textbooks and victims said it did after inhalation of ether.

Just as his head had hurt when he had first awoken.

Back then.

Before he had been rescued.

He took a deep breath to try and steady his nauseous stomach.

But it was futile.

And he couldn't even roll over far enough before he felt the rising wave of sickness.

The movement he made just encouraged the twist of his stomach as it lurched to expel.

But nothing came. Nothing but air.

His stomach straining in desperate dry heaves, but there was nothing left to banish.

Just more sweat and the trailing of goosebumps across his clammy skin.

His leg twinged with cramp. Sharp and unrelenting.

Protesting until he finally slumped back over to lie flat on his back.

Gasping hot dry breaths.

There was no fresh air either.

He took another breath in.

What could he smell?

He forced himself to think.

To process.

Soil, earth.

The tang of his own sweat, laced with fear and adrenaline.

The sharper scent of ammonia, of human urine.

And beyond that the traces of something sweet.

Which seemed to lace his mouth.

He traced his teeth with the tip of his fuzzy tongue.

Bubblegum.

The bubblegum.

His lips when pressed together were cracked and dry.

He was thirsty.

But he was still alive.

And that meant he still had a chance.

He couldn't hear anything.

He lay and waited.

Straining to hear anything.

Then slowly he found he could hear his heart.

Hear the beat, slamming and fast.

Could feel it straining in his chest.

Pounding so hard up against his rib cage he was afraid he might have a heart attack, or pass out from the strain.

But somehow he didn't.

It was still beating.

The rhythm of his blood echoing with the sounds of the song that had driven him here.

No comfort to him now.

His wrists stung where the binding plastic had bitten into his flesh.

The least of his problems.

Ignoring it he fumbled around.

Tapping against the Perspex.

The knocking sounds loud and echoing.

His sweaty palms picking up gravelly bits.

Yet there was nothing in here.

No glo stick.

No bubblegum.

Not even any bubble gum wrappers.

No recorded message.

And no gun.

There was no gun.

No reassuring heavy weight in his palm and bullets in the chamber.

This time he was truly alone.

Or had he even left?

Was he dreaming this?

Or had he been dreaming all that.

Had all that…

All the drama of the rescue, all the pain and the long arduous hours of recovery, all the love from his friends and family.

All the fresh air and warm showers and food and clean clothes.

The team reforming, getting back to work, drinking and dancing and laughter in the Peppermill.

Had all that been the dream?

Had all that been a hallucination whilst he really still lay buried six feet under?

His mind and body longing so desperately for all those things that it created them?

Was this what was really real?

This darkness, this claustrophobia?

This suffocating heat?

This certain death?

Was he dead?

Was he dreaming?

Was he hallucinating?

He had no idea.

He cried out.

His palms slamming flat against the hard surface above his head.

Fighting the only way he could right now.

But nothing gave.

He cried and shouted and flailed.

Discovering just how weak he was.

Discovering just how little energy he had to put force behind his onslaught.

Before he slumped exhausted and sobbing.

But no tears came.

There wasn't enough moisture in his body to spare it on worthless tears.

For a while he just waited.

Feeling his heart rate dip again.

Trying to control the rasp of his breathing.

There was nothing else he could do.

Just wait.

Wait for the burning sensation in his bruised palms to ease.

Wait for his breathing to slow and relax.

He tried to focus.

To remember.

There was something he had to remember…

But he just couldn't…

Something about batteries running out and lights…

Something about how this just couldn't be real.

But what was made up?

What was real?

Right now the evidence around him was pretty concrete.

Just couldn't remember.

Couldn't understand.

Couldn't wrap his brain around all the confusing possibilities.

But wait.

What was that?

He could hear more.

Hear the dreaded whir of the fan.

The constant swoop of the blades.

Round and round and round.

Eerie and growing louder and louder.

Then the sound was stopping.

The air flow was stopping.

Something was going to happen.

Above him there was a clap like thunder and a violent light slammed his senses.

Sending him reeling for cover.

But there wasn't any.

His hands covered his eyes.

Trying to block out the pain and the burning of his retinas.

The beam pinned him there like a bug in one of Grissom's glass frames that had been foolish enough to be drawn in by the light.

Yet beyond the light were new sounds.

Moving closer and closer to clarity.

Was this it?

Was this rescue?

But Grissom's fatherly face did not appear haloed in light.

There were no cries of 'keep calm' or 'we're here, we're going to get you out.'

There wasn't even a palm pressed flat to the Perspex.

Just sounds.

Getting louder and louder.

ANTS.

Oh God!

It had to be ants.

He tensed his body waiting for the all too familiar stabbing sensation of being eaten alive.

But it never came.

Instead the sound morphed into something else.

Words.

Hard to catch, but definitely words.

Someone was singing.

No not someone.

He would never forget that voice.

Walter Gordon.

It was that voice again.

The same twisted evil voice from the tape recording.

The same one that had weaved in and out of the music in the Peppermill.

The words were falling down from the light.

Singing.

"_It was Christmas in Las Vegas when the local's hit the town."_

The words sounding cruel and twisted.

The tone eerie and off.

The diction crisp and clipped.

He gave up with covering his eyes, wrapping an arm over his face he tried to smother the sound instead.

But it got louder and louder and louder.

Taunting him.

"_Theresa hit a streak and laid her waitress apron down…_"

He cried out to hide from the noise.

Trying to drown it out with noise of his own.

But it wasn't working and his screams sounded feeble and frightened in the echoing chasm.

_"Hi CSI guy… Merry Christmas!"_

But it's not even Christmas… his brain screamed, but his lips wouldn't work.

There was a pause.

Then the laughter came.

Swelling out of the light.

Wild and uncontrolled and manic.

Pure crazy unleashed.

Then the darkness returned as quickly as it had arrived.

He lay there panting.

The laughter still rolling in an echo around his brain.

Yet there was tension now.

Something was going to happen.

He could feel it in the air.

Feeling in his very bones.

BANG!

"_Look who else followed the evidence."_

To the right of his shoulder, just below where the fan gently whirred.

A light came on.

A dim eerie glowing green light.

Another coffin.

Another glass coffin.

One filled with another body.

Laying on its stomach.

Face down.

Dark tangled curls.

Unmistakably Sara.

He heard his own voice whisper her name.

Unable to get the sound out louder, past the huge swelling lump of fear in his throat.

That bastard.

He couldn't have Sara too.

He was dead.

He was dead!

Please don't let Sara be dead.

Please.

Move Sara. Move!

He moved.

Pounding his palm hard against the glass nearest too her.

Harder and harder.

His eyes never leaving her slumped form.

Shifting as well as he could to try and get closer to her, but the box wouldn't let him.

He kept staring.

Kept willing.

And it seemed an eternity before she finally moved.

Dazedly lifting her head.

Like a young child dragged from slumber.

Her eyes blinking slowly and confused at the dim green glow and the incessant pounding.

She was alive.

Alive.

He let out his breath.

The burn of his lungs the only thing reminding him that he needed to breathe again.

He was a bad man, but a huge part of him was relieved.

That she was alive.

That he wouldn't have to be alone, to deal with this alone.

How sick a thought was that.

He hated himself the moment the thought crossed his mind.

His friend.

This friend he loved was going to suffer.

Suffer just as he had.

And for her it was only just beginning.

From the still dazed look in her eyes he could tell that her mind was still reeling.

Groggy from the traces of ether still beating in her veins.

Throbbing with the headache that still had not faded from his brain.

And it was only going to get worse for her.

From here he couldn't help her.

He was useless, powerless, impotent.

Just that tiny little bit too far away.

She was coming around now.

The green glow in her eyes reflecting the fear and the confusion and mirroring his panic.

Then she saw him and everything changed.

She froze.

Wavering there.

Eyes big as saucers.

Then she was screaming.

Wildly screaming.

Reaching for him.

Her soundless horror fracturing his soul.

Then the light was back.

Blinding and obscuring.

_"Did you like your present CSI guy?"_

The voice was back too.

_"And now for your viewing pleasure… I've another for you!"_

Bang.

Another green light.

More haunting laughter.

And another body.

With golden curls glimmering in the undersea light.

Catherine.

Just as trapped.

Already aware and already screaming.

Appeared, just as terrified opposite to Sara.

Blindly howling.

Not even realising she wasn't alone in the overwhelming surge of her fear.

Crying out to anything.

Tears freefalling down her cheeks, smearing through the dust.

_"And another."_

BANG!

His attention was jerked away.

It was Greg this time.

By Sara's side, level with his lower legs.

The youngest CSI.

His bewildered eyes.

The haunted fear.

The disbelief.

Like he just couldn't get his head around where he was or what had happened.

He looked so small.

So much younger than the rest of them all of a sudden.

So vulnerable.

Defenceless.

"_And one more for good luck."_

BANG!

Warrick.

It was Warrick.

Opposite Greg, down by his left leg.

And Warrick's eyes.

Storm filled and livid and scared all at once.

Angry and aimed at him.

Then Warrick's palm appeared.

Slamming against the glass of his coffin.

The unlucky coin displayed pressed in his palm.

The coin that had chosen Nick for the Trash Run.

Had chosen Nick to be the one to follow the evidence.

The coin he had tossed back to Warrick.

His own voice echoing this time, _"You keep this. It's bad luck."_

Oh God…

He could feel his soul bleed with each passing moment.

How was this happening?

It couldn't be happening.

They were good people.

Good People.

They saved lives, they fought for justice, they fought for him.

Then the bright white light was back.

And he cowered from it.

Hiding his face however he could.

But around him the others were scrambling.

Reaching blindly into the light.

Hoping for rescue.

Hoping for freedom.

And the sight made his torn and bloody soul die.

How could they be so hopeful?

They weren't ever getting out of this one.

"_Awww, doesn't it just make your heart bleed CSI guy."_

No. No.

He couldn't hear this, this wasn't happening.

"_Just look at how hopeful they are! But you know better. Don't you CSI guy."_

There was a weighted pause.

"_They all think he's coming."_

The laughter was back. Edging the words.

"_But shhhhh… I've a special secret for you CSI guy. But you aren't going to tell them are you CSI guy. Say I promise…"_

He said nothing.

Stayed perfectly still.

But the secret was revealed to him anyway in another slamming blow.

BANG.

Another glo stick burst to life at his feet.

He didn't want too look.

But he couldn't help himself. His attention was powerlessly drawn.

There at his feet, lying helpless in his very own glass coffin was Grissom.

"_Merry Christmas CSI guy."_

No! No! No!

Then he was screaming.

Wordlessly.

Frantically.

Fighting the box.

Slamming his forehead against the roof, his palms to the sides, his feet to the bottom.

Wild and frightened and out of control.

Then something was happening.

His pounding.

His motion.

The box around him was cracking.

Literally self-destructing under the pressure and he knew what came next.

The biting sting of ants.

But instead something fell.

Something metal and heavy.

Landing on his stomach with a winding thump.

A gun.

This was it.

He could feel the bodies around him slow.

Feel all eyes on him as he lifted the weight.

Readied the chamber.

This was it.

The end.

He couldn't do this again.

If they were all down here who was going to get them out?

Who was coming to save them?

No one.

Around him they had given up waiting and were all moving violently again.

Trying to fight for their lives.

The ants had crawled into Sara's coffin and were feasting wildly as she screamed and writhed. Scrabbling at her coffin walls, Grissom's name on her lips as she strained towards him.

Catherine had given up sobbing and lay dangerously still. Pressing her palm against the glass.

Pressing her palm to Warrick's mirroring palm as if the Perspex and the vacuum between them did not exist.

The expression on their faces said it all.

They were saying Goodbye.

Greg lay completely still, his face in his hands.

He looked eerily like he was praying.

And Grissom.

Grissom looked up at him.

Tears silently trailing down his cheeks.

Slowly sliding into his beard.

Disappointment clear in his grey blue eyes.

And beyond that the powerful ache of resigned emptiness.

He had failed him.

Failed all of them.

He was giving up.

Grissom was giving up.

And if Grissom thought it was hopeless…

Suddenly the heavy metal weight on his in his hand weighed more and more in a tempting option.

Too tempting.

Far too tempting.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't watch any more suffering.

Not when it was his fault.

This was all his fault.

They had come looking for him.

Following the evidence in his missing persons case.

And here they were.

In one fated star-crossed move he had set all this in motion.

He'd killed them all.

All those brave souls who had given up their lives to help him.

And now he was going to take the coward's way out.

But if this really was a dream what did it matter?

God, he hoped this was a dream.

He lifted the gun.

His hand shaking.

Feeling the steely cold against the underside of his jaw.

The circular muzzle pressing hard into the muscle and sinew.

"I love you all. I'm sorry." He whispered.

Then closing his eyes he pulled the trigger.

And the world around him exploded into screams and glittering light.

**0o0o0o0o0**

He was flailing.

Screaming wildly at the top of his lungs and tumbling off Catherine's couch in a heap of tangled blankets.

It was real.

He was alive.

He was rescued.

Loved.

Asleep on Catherine's couch.

There was no more grave.

No more buried alive.

No more Walter Gordon.

No more smell of rotting earth and certain death and fear.

Yet tell that to his panicked half-blind eyes.

Tell that to his thunderous heart.

To the adrenaline soaring through his blood stream.

He swayed violently as he scrambled to try and stand.

Stumbling over the blanket that had wound cocoon tight about his ankles.

And down he went like a stone, smacking his face against Catherine's coffee table.

Crying out in confusion and pain and fear.

Crying out at the memories.

At the dream that was still playing so vividly across his minds eye.

He had to get out.

He had to get outside.

Out into the fresh air, the freedom, out of the four enclosing walls.

But even that wouldn't be enough.

To truly escape he needed to get out of his own head.

He scrambled towards the back of the house. Towards the windowed doors.

With a scramble of catches and locks he was out.

Blindly stumbling.

Lungs burning with the rush of Vegas night air.

Then he was sliding to the ground.

Decking cool under his feet and legs.

This was real.

Real.

He felt like he'd always imagined a dying man finding an oasis in the middle of the desert felt.

Then there was sound behind him.

There were soft hands on his upper arms.

Reaching out to touch him.

To calm him.

To embrace him and all his pain.

And surrendering he sobbed like a baby.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Whilst across town.

Slept two lovers on the brink.

Warm and curled and tangled sweet.

As on blissful dreamy seas they slept.

Soft breaths intertwining with each contented sigh.

Eyelashes fluttering as they slumbered.

Just waiting for first light.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: **Excuse me whilst I weep about all the pretty things I pine for and do not own.

**Author Notes: **I know… shock horror! A new chapter of Stars in Motion!! Thank you so much to all my lovely readers. I hope you are still out there!! (And a message to Mma63, see Monica… I keep my promises!! Thank you for the nudge!)

**Stars in Motion.**

By Rianne.

_Chapter Nineteen._

The scream.

It froze her heart.

Then the violent crash that followed was like lightning jump-starting her brain again.

Tearing her from heavy dreamless sleep.

Her eyes flew open and she was on her feet in moments.

Clambering from the bed with wild eyes.

But twisted in the bed sheets and going down like a stone.

Her naked limbs entwined with the fabric, her fear and that fog in her brain making her instincts lousy.

She hit the ground with a winding thump. She heard herself as if from above, heard her hoarse cry of pain. And at the same time felt the throbbing explosion in her head like a bomb had gone off.

Stunned for a moment she lay sprawled, aware only that there was tangled hair in her eyes, that the golden strands fluttered as she breathed.

It took another moment for her to wonder why she was on the floor.

To wonder what had woken her.

Before that anguished sound registered with her again.

It was the only thing that she could hear beyond the pounding of her heart in her ears.

Through the darkness the room was still spinning and she was sick to her stomach, which was bubbling wildly.

There was someone in her house.

Downstairs.

And her mothering instincts went feral.

Lindsay!

She had to protect Lindsay.

Flickers of her baby's face, still innocent despite her recent behaviour, flashed in her brain.

She knew too much about what could happen.

She had seen far, far too much.

She had to defend what was hers.

She began crawling, hauling the bed sheet with her, keeping it close around her bare skin, hardly the best outfit for attack, but she had no time to alter that, as she was staggering to her feet, the plush carpet no reassurance under her feet.

The building around her was no longer her home, but a place made unfamiliar and alien by the darkness and the fear.

What had happened?

How had she got home?

Why was there someone in her house?

Her service weapon…

Where was it? Her brain wouldn't work!

Had she stored it in the safe when she came home?

Damn lot of good it was in there either way.

She couldn't blink, the world was racing on ahead of her and her lashes felt like they were glued together.

Her head was pounding.

Her attention flickered rapidly around the room.

The lamp.

The heavy glass based bedside lamp, the one she had just HAD to buy, despite the price tag and the fact she already had a nice one.

Perfect.

She yanked the flex from the wall with a grunt of effort.

The weight of the makeshift weapon in her palm was more reassuring.

She left the bedroom on quiet feet.

Trailing the sheet behind her like a ghost bride.

Navigating the stairs with trepidation, heading cautiously towards the sound that had dulled now in to something more painful.

A melody more of anguish than of anger.

She took a breath at the bottom of the stairs before barrelling full force around the corner, lamp weapon raised high above her head in one hand whilst the other clutched the binding fabric to her breast. Instinctively she charged towards the sound, powered by she knew not what.

And it was seconds stretched out.

Stretched further than ever before.

Before she realised.

There was no intruder.

Before pieces of the past few hours tumbled down around her in glittering fragmented shards of memory.

The bar, the celebrations, the drinking.

Before she remembered that Lindsay wasn't even here.

And also remembered the deception, the lies about loosing keys, the worry she had felt for him, and the invitation to sleep on her couch.

And suddenly her heart hurt.

She knew.

The adrenaline roaring around her veins ebbed.

Rapidly replaced by a chill of sadness.

She found herself trailing to a halt in the open doorway.

The sight before her way worse than anything she had expected upstairs.

An intruder she could have faced and would have known what to do.

But this…

To this she was powerless.

This was pain.

Sudden and burning in her breast.

Raw and aching and keening.

A few feet from the door she could see that Nick lay in the grass.

Curled into a ball like a wounded child.

Shoulders shuddering.

Defenceless against the waves of pain and the nightmare of memories consuming him.

The lamp in her hand fell to the floor forgotten.

And despite her state of undress she was already padding across the soft, moist grass.

Feeling the dewy moisture slide between her bare toes and the night air cool the fear fever from her skin.

"Oh Nicky…"

It was so heartbroken it didn't even sound like her.

He whimpered at her voice.

She reached for him.

Her arms slid around his chilled skin.

And at her touch he seemed only to sob harder.

And then he was clutching her back, so tightly she gasped, struggling to breathe, loosing the fight against the emotion burning through in her own tears.

His salt streaked face pressed hard into her bare shoulder, the misery trails escaping him trickling down her bared skin and being absorbed into the cotton she was wrapped in.

And she rocked him.

Rocked him like she used to rock Lindsay when she was a babe.

Hoping that the soothing motion might help ease the heartache somehow.

Knowing that there really was not anything else she could do but to be there.

Just be there and wait.

And time passed by, leaving them like that.

A lot of time.

It was only when her thighs began to ache from sitting on the ground so long that she knew they had to move.

That she was able to finally coax him up, and both of them stumbling, guide him over to the softer perch of the sun lounger, which sat on her patio flanking the grass.

He let her guide him in silence.

He moved as if catatonic.

His red-ringed eyes staring blindly.

Weary beyond anything she had seen.

She urged him to recline against the chair.

Cautiously left him, fretfully hurrying back into the house.

And she returned quickly, now dressed in a towelling robe, and holding the blanket from her couch for him and two bottles of water for their dehydration.

She moved slowly so as not to spook him if he had fallen into exhausted sleep.

But she found him still awake, staring up at the sky above them.

She covered his bare shoulders with the blanket, watching him warily, his whole demeanour screaming numbness and shock.

Eventually she lowered herself beside him.

It was only then that she gave into the curiosity and followed his line of sight.

And found her mouth falling open in surprise as she took in what had enraptured his troubled mind.

Above them the mysterious sky was alight with the tumble of falling stars.

Streaking madly across the dark endless desert sky.

She breathed out in awe.

Relaxing into his rapidly warming side as they both watched in wonder.

Allowing their problems to fall away in the perspective of this beautiful natural phenomenon.

Curling their toes into the blades of ticklish grass to keep them a tenuous grip on reality.

And there they sat, the stars eventually fading into the orange glow of dawning light.

And as the sun came up bringing new light to everything he hesitantly began to speak.

**0o0o0o0o0**

The light felt different.

Usually he came awake to the fading amber blush of a setting sun.

Yet when he reached for consciousness today the sun was a paler yellow.

Brighter, like it was reaching out to lick his skin with a new warmth.

Filtering through his eyelids and coaxing him to face a newer day.

A different kind of day.

As things were different.

The light was coming from the wrong side.

The bed was softer.

There was a scent in the room that was warmed by the sunlight into a sweet honey.

His mouth was dry, and his lips too.

His tongue flicked out to spread a small amount of his moisture resource over the parched skin.

His head felt fuzzy.

He shifted, stretching and feeling the strain between his thighs that had accompanied morning since his teenage years in a natural, yet insistent way.

Yet his motion gently jostled him against something.

He froze.

Against someone.

He risked drawing a breath.

And that motion revealed that what could only be a warm arm was affectionately draped around his middle.

An arm, which stirred, and settled again after his motion.

He wasn't alone.

Yet he suddenly wasn't worried.

He breathed in that scent again, and this time recognised it.

A fragrance both spicy and sweet and infinitely familiar.

Sara.

His eyes fluttered open.

Blinking in the dawning light.

A golden haze haloed the face beside him.

His heart beat faster.

And he found himself infinitely surprised at his immediate lack of fear.

There was no desperate impulse to flee, as he would have expected.

As he had panicked would take over him as it had in the past.

He felt none of those things.

What he felt could only be akin to contentment.

In fact he would gladly have never moved again.

Sara.

And she was close enough for the image of her face to be slightly blurry.

Close enough for his eyes to trace intimately over the faint freckles dancing across her cheeks and crowing the bridge of her nose.

Close enough that he could have counted each individual eyelash as it lay dozing against the curve of her cheek, which was faintly flushed from sleep.

Sara.

Beautiful, completely serene in a way he had never seen her before, and so very vulnerable to his hungry gaze.

Unable to resist his craving to touch her he found his fingertips reaching out, caressing the feather light strands of her hair back from her face.

Enjoying the silk of her curls as they filtered through his fingers.

She stirred and murmured softly, snuggling closer to him.

So close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his face.

And it was only with that faint wave of her that he remembered.

Remembered how he had ended up here.

Traced the evening before in glowing light across the warmth of his recent and precious memory.

There had been happiness and smiles.

The teasing and rub of her thigh against his and his fingertips stroking over the delicate soft of her bare skin.

The intimate delight of teasing one another within sight of their friend and colleagues, the experience heightened by their proximity.

There had been confusion with a happy ending; there had been an invite for coffee, which had been welcomed with pleasure.

There had been dancing and kissing under a sky filled with falling stars. A wonderful world indeed.

The discovery on his part of her possession of a photograph. A snapshot of a perfect moment, of their time together in San Francisco, a reminder he had never seen, of an event he had thought of often.

And then there had been more kissing. Falling into it as if it was second nature for them.

And the overwhelming feel, so much better than he had even imagined, of her warm feminine body writhing beneath his, pinned to this soft, soft bed…

The strain between his legs throbbed happily in response to that memory.

Delicious torture.

And then…

His eyes closed as a hot wave of shame roared over his skin.

Oh God.

But he had.

It was unmistakable.

His pleasant memories went no further than the sweet taste of the skin that protected her sensitive neck and throat.

He had.

He had fallen asleep.

The mortification which chilled him was worse than any embarrassment.

He wanted to groan, to scream, to bang his supposed to be smart head against something hard and solid until all the idiot fell out.

He wanted to beg for the ultimate forgiveness.

He had fallen asleep.

How had she not violently shaken him awake and shoved him out of her bed?

Out of her apartment?

Out of her life?

His hand had found its way over his face, instinctively hiding from the world in the way that only works when you are a small child and believe because you cannot see that no one can see you.

He had fallen asleep.

Peeling his fingers back one by one he dared to peer down at himself.

Only to have his worse nightmare confirmed.

He lay there in the crumpled clothes he had worn the night before.

His eyes closed again, not wanting to see anymore.

He could blame it on the heavy few weeks they had just lived through.

He could blame it on the mixes of alcohol he had consumed.

He could blame it on a million things, but it wouldn't matter.

It couldn't change anything.

And he had tried so hard to convince her that he could be a great partner, a great lover, to show her how much he wanted her.

To be suave and attractive and most of all attentive.

And she with her sweetness and shy affection had made him feel so young, so carefree and yet here was just another example, another glaring proof that he was not.

Yeah, that must have been a real boost to her clearly fragile confidence to have him collapse unconscious over her whilst kissing.

The reverse of the fairytale.

Certainly not the end of the evening that both of them had longed for.

He would never live this down.

Never.

He wouldn't let himself.

Yet here she was.

Still there with him.

And more than that, she was curled up around him, looking so content he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't start purring.

God, what had he ever done to deserve her?

After all he had put her through.

The unending powers of her forgiveness awed him.

This woman beside him… he did not deserve her.

And she looked so peaceful.

In fact her entire apartment for him had a calm and peaceful air about it.

It was a place of shelter. A place of comfort.

His attention drifted about the room. Took in the warm earthy colours.

The dark curtains and dark purple walls cocooning and protective.

And decorated with frame after frame.

Beautiful and precious memories kept safe behind the glass.

Places, friends, maybe even her family.

He breathed in the atmosphere again.

Feeling more comfortable in this private world of hers than he had ever expected too.

The whole place felt like her.

Like being cocooned with her, like being in her arms.

Like being with the private her she had just let him see in glimpses before now.

Let him see in little flickers doled out when she was happy, or sad, or showed her heart.

And like her the space was a surprise, he had not expected her home to look like this.

It had a warm, soft and welcoming heart, concealed inside a defensive, protective shell.

Just like her.

And he had to smile at how much more feminine this place was than the uninterested in that kind of thing demeanour she projected at work.

Her bedroom, and her main room last night, had been scattered with delicate trinkets and treasures.

Hidden amongst a book collection to rival even his.

And in here, her dresser had a scattering of bottles of makeup and scents.

And a little tree-like stand strewn with jewellery stood beside an oval mirror, some of which caught the sunlight and glittered magically.

There were heavier curtains unclosed, which usually covered over the window, kept out the daylight, but he was glad she had forgotten to draw them closed.

This morning they allowed the sunlight to bathe over them.

Then his eyes fell on something that made his heart go out to her.

On the little shelf in her bedside table there sat a small battered stuffed animal.

A dog.

With threadbare fur and floppy ears and sad glittering eyes.

A clearly treasured possession.

Carefully placed close.

A vestige of a long past Sara.

Most likely a pre – 'incident' Sara.

The small heartbreaking looking toy something she had likely smuggled with her through foster homes and kept for comfort through more sadness than he could imagine.

Something beloved and unable to be parted from.

And that was the moment he was sure he loved her.

Loved her for all she was.

Big heart, sad eyes, battered soul.

Leaning in he placed a warm kiss to her hair.

Nuzzling his nose in the scent of her.

Enjoying being this close.

This time she didn't even stir.

He had to wonder how long it had been since she had slept this healthily, this deeply, this long?

It was a good feeling.

Sara, the woman who could go days without rest was fast asleep, curled in his arms.

He found himself oddly touched that she felt comfortable enough to sleep beside him.

The level of trust that it implied warmed his heart.

She trusted him.

And that was worth a thousand embarrassments.

She looked so happy.

Relaxed and young.

Breakfast!

The idea came to him.

Breakfast in bed.

He could make her a _'please forgive me', 'what do you see in me?', 'please don't leave me, I adore you'_, breakfast.

She must have something that was edible in her fridge.

Yes, that was what he would do.

But in a minute.

Even with the mild throb between his legs still reminding him of his masculinity he took another moment to simply watch her.

To be close to her.

To enjoy just being there with her in the pretty morning light.

She was so beautiful.

He had so much to be thankful for.

Yes, that was his plan; he would treat her to breakfast in bed.

After all it felt like it was the least he could do.

That, hopefully, might distract her from his embarrassing behaviour, at least for a little while.

He could already envisage the laughter that would come.

God help him, as if he wasn't ashamed enough…


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer:** CSI, CSI, CSI, oh they all belong to CSI. And I borrowed a little from L'Oreal… It's in there!! Don't ask!

**Author Notes****:** I am determined to get this story finished!! It has been neglected for far too long! I know I promised this chapter would be ready over the weekend, but less than 2 days late isn't too bad for me!! x

Stars In Motion.

By Rianne

_Chapter Twenty._

His voice was gravelly when he forced out the first words.

Still hoarse from the sheer volume of emotion which had consumed him.

Yet his quiet expression sounded so lost and vulnerable that his tone could have enraptured audiences of thousands.

And when he spoke it was as if a huge dam had finally given, that one brick had been jarred loose by the nightmare and had finally, thankfully, brought all the others tumbling down with it.

For weeks he had told everyone who asked that he was fine.

The therapist, the doctors, his family, his friends.

But he wasn't fine.

And for the first time it was okay for that to be the truth.

He had been hovering too long in that precarious position, on the very edge of his sanity.

Caught pivotally just on the brink.

And he knew he was treading on thin ice. That if he didn't finally admit that there was a problem, that he might well be driven to insanity by the madness inside of him, madness that had been threatening to burst out.

And now it had.

Spectacularly.

Now he sat surrounded by the debris of the last few weeks, and for the first time he felt like he could reach out that quivering hand of his for help.

And beside him smothered in a towelling robe sat someone he hadn't envisaged having this conversation with, and perhaps that was why it felt alright, why she felt like a good person for this.

She was his friend, he adored her, and as he began to speak she listened, reaching out to take his hand securely in hers.

And never said a word.

She let the words fall freely from him.

And he knew that the healing had finally begun.

"Did you ever wish on a star when you were a kid, Cath?"

She turned her head back towards him, tilting her face wistfully to show he had her attention, her expression answering without her saying anything.

"I used to wish to be happy. To follow my dreams."

He shook his head, remembering how he used to be.

"I was so naive." He lifted his face back up to the rising sun.

"You can't ever be truly happy." He declared sounding so listless it frightened him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shake her head, disagreeing with him, the remnants of her tangled curls bumping freely against the curve of her cheeks.

"No…" his voice broke, and he had to swallow to clear the lump again. "No."

It was more definite that time. With more conviction.

"You can't be completely happy as you always end up disappointing someone. You can never be that person that everyone expects you to be."

"But you, you always try, Nicky," she murmured her belief in his goodness clear.

He let that sit. Knowing the truth was indisputable.

"My Dad," He lifted her hand distractedly, as if examining her fingers for trace, "he wanted me to be a Judge. My Mom, she wanted me to stay home in Texas, to settle and find myself a good woman. Carry on the Stokes family name. I have so many sisters. All girls, all older, and then me. And all of them talkative and bossy and I was the male, I'm the one who was supposed to be stoic and strong and be like my Dad… And I… I disappointed all of them."

He sighed, looking up again at the varying shades of golden, which kissed the sky as the sun rose.

"I did what I wanted to do. I followed my dreams to protect and to serve and look where I fell. I followed the evidence right into my own destruction."

"No!" She was sharp with her certainty. Shaking the hand that held his. "Look at what you did. You beat him. You won and you were the only person who could have made it."

Her grip tightened, flexing around his fingers, her other hand sealing his between her palms.

"You are the strongest of all of us, Nicky."

The memories kept them quiet for a longer pause. Painful remembrances that rained from the sky and soaked right into them, unavoidable and heartbreaking. That raised goose bumps to the surface of her skin and made his jaw clench tight.

"That was what my nightmare was about."

He was sure that she had guessed that, but he said it anyway.

It was starting to haze now, his nightmare, his brain already beginning to blur the sharp edges in self-protection.

He had to fight to concentrate on the finer details.

He wasn't sure why he needed too, but somewhere deep in him he knew that this was the beginning to the process, the way to get better.

The way to work on rinsing that bad taste from his mouth, and lightening the ache in this chest, he wasn't sure would ever go away.

But he had to be.

He had to be ever hopeful.

Ever the optimist.

He just had to try to talk about this, maybe then, maybe if he was able to speak about it, to let it out, that it would help dissolve that solid lump of fear it had left in his stomach.

"You know what kept me going?"

Cath had no answer to that.

"You did."

Her fingers tightened around his as a lone tear escaped down her cheek.

"Sara did, Warrick, Greg, Brass, and Griss…"

The tears were fighting their way back, yet there didn't seem to be enough moisture left, his eyes burned like the umber sky.

"What kept me going was all of you, knowing you, knowing that even if you didn't make it, if you didn't…" his voice stuttered, but he forced on. "…save me. I knew that you would be trying. Just knowing that you were out there trying. That you would all be doing everything you could. Everything you could think of."

With a watery smile Cath let go of his hand and drew him closer, hugging him tightly to her.

"My dream," he cleared his throat again, waiting for her to draw back into her own space, "in my dream I was waiting, waiting for you to come. And you did," He saw Catherine's eyes cloud over with confusion.

"You were there, one by one, he…" He didn't need to tell her who _he_ was. "He brought you to me, showed you to me, but you were all as trapped as I was. One by one, you were there just screaming and…"

The sudden sob shook his whole chest, raising them both for a perilous moment before plunging him back into the vast pit of despair.

He rode the dry heaving sobs, one hand pressing to his face, until they gave a little and let him breathe again.

His hand lowered to his lips. Rubbed over the scratch of his unshaven face.

"And it… it was all my fault."

Her hands captured his upper arms and her fingers dug in she clutched him that tightly.

"It was never your fault."

The anger in her voice surprised him. His face twisted sharply to look at her.

"It was never, never your fault."

That anger was in her eyes too, along with an edge of fear. A fear that he didn't truly believe that.

"But I followed the evidence… until I became the evidence… and then you followed me! It could so easily have happened. It made me wonder if I had even been rescued at all!"

He was shouting and that was the last thing he wanted. He was not supposed to be angry, if he was angry then he lost and _he_ won.

He couldn't stand to be touched by her any longer, he was on his feet, stumbling onto the grass on unsteady legs, needing the space to breathe.

Yet his lungs could have filled his entire chest and he would have still felt like he was drowning.

He began counting, backwards from ten, over and over again, measured and controlled in the only way he could. Waiting until his breathing matched his counting. Waiting until his counting was faster than his breathing.

His pacing damn near wearing a ditch in Catherine's backyard.

And she was still waiting, swamped in her bathrobe, looking dazed and even stunned by his outburst, processing it slowly and distractedly, her toes drifting back and forth across the tender blades of grass, studying his frantic, then slowing movements carefully. Her fingers twisting round and round and round the now half filled curves of her bottle of water.

Knowing how important it was.

Knowing she had to let him do this.

And after time had past he felt he could. Felt he could talk again, but he didn't sit.

Not beside her.

He kept moving, the motion of his body reminding him all the while that he was alive and well and free.

Well almost free.

"I almost did it. I almost pulled the trigger."

His words echoed out over her suburban yard, sounding so wrong in such a cookie cutter, white picket fence environment.

"I was that close…" He sounded angry now, angry and guilty.

His hands were balled into fists at his sides, the short cropped nails biting into the flesh.

"I tried so hard to think of all the good things. All I had to be thankful for. All I had enjoyed. All those moments I had felt loved and appreciated and worthy. And I tried so hard not to think of what could happen. Not to think of all those places I'd wanted to go. Or all the things I wanted to do. All the things I had left to say… But you came!"

His voice slowed.

He reigned in the flood of words, his racing heart, his racing brain.

"When I heard your voices… When there was suddenly light and Grissom's hand to reach for… It felt like I got my life back…"

She was crying now. Silent tears tumbling down from the anxious blue of her eyes.

"But in my dream you were all there too… down there trapped with me and… there was no hope left."

"You pulled the trigger…?" her soft question wasn't one at all. It was a slip. Her words getting away from her.

Yet as her mistake dawned on her and her eyes grew wide he had already confirmed it by carrying on speaking regardless.

"I had disappointed everyone. And there was no escape. We were all there and there was no one left to find us. And you were all just so frightened and broken and saying your goodbyes and… there was just that stupid glass box and a gun. That was it. All I had. It was the only option I had left that I could control."

"Nick, you could never disappoint any of us. Never. And you didn't. You believed in us and most of all you believed in yourself."

He had never heard her speak so determinedly. With such conviction.

He wanted to trust the words she spoke, he really did…

"You have no idea how proud everyone is of you."

She needed an example, needed to follow it up and had so many to choose from.

"At the hospital I spoke to your parents for the longest time. Having parents like that growing up, that must have been something, ha?"

She had never had a regular kind of family and he knew that, he knew he had been lucky.

He had walked himself slowly to a stop, and realising that he crossed to her, lowering himself back down beside her, his body suddenly heavy and very, very tired.

And for the first time since, disregarding the drunken hours they had spent, she saw a small genuine smile flicker across his face.

He re-wrapped himself in the blanket he had thrown aside as he had stood, taking his time before he spoke again.

"My Father, he doesn't believe in weakness. He thinks less of me for it. I can see it in the way he looks at me, and even more when my Mom asks how the counselling sessions are going. He always did think I talked too much about my feelings, said it was no wonder growing up in a house full of girls."

Cath nodded slowly, but disagreed. "They both love you so much, I've never met prouder parents. I can't imagine them ever being disappointed in you."

He sighed, and she could have sworn she saw a small weight lift off his shoulder and float away at her words.

"We are all so proud of you."

Her broad smile was contagious and he smiled again, it was nowhere near her wattage, but it was precious ground gained.

"Did… did, er…"

Cath leaned closer waiting for him to order his words.

"Did Grissom visit me in the hospital?"

She huffed at his question. "Yeah, of course he did, we all did. We could hardly keep Sara away from your bedside, and yeah, Grissom visited, at least three times I know of, one of them with me."

"I thought I'd dreamed it." He murmured. "He told me he wasn't disappointed in me." His face dipped to study his toes. "I dismissed it, thought that Griss being open with his feelings was too good to be true."

She tutted at him. "An introverted hermit he may be, but Gil Grissom has his moments."

She couldn't help but smile at this newly garnered shiny treasure-filled piece of the ever-complicated puzzle of her friend and boss.

"So, the therapy…?" She left the question unasked.

He shrugged.

"I go… but…" He gave in, admitting with a sigh, "it's awkward. I can't help it. I know what I… went through… but it still feels a little bit… I don't know…indulgent? I guess I just feel like I'm wasting precious time that I thought I had lost forever, sitting looking at splotches of ink and talking about my childhood. And I hear my Dad's voice in my head every time, like he's ingrained in a corner up there, shaking his head at me."

Cath shook her head, lightly.

"This is for you. Forget about everyone else. We all just want you to be happy, and calm and safe. Isn't that what you want?"

He ran a distracted hand through his hair, roughing up the short strands.

"I just want all this to go away… To never have happened. But I know I can't have that…"

His chest tightened again and he forced it back down. There had been enough crying.

"I guess I just want to feel like _me_ again. To feel like I can be happy again without pretending. To tell everyone just how much they mean to me and how thankful I am to have them in my life…"

"We know," She confirmed, raising her brows at his look of surprise.

"Damn, Nicky, don't you know that your heart shines through in everything you do? I don't want to give you a big head or anything," she found herself able to tease, bumping her shoulder against his, "but I have never met a man who treats others as well as you. You care. You try your hardest with everything and that is what got you through this and what is going to keep you going."

"The therapist thinks I should go visit Kelly Gordon."

That surprised her. Stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh…"

They were both quiet, thinking it over.

"Why?"

She saw his mouth form a flat line at her question.

"They think it will give me some kind of closure. Some end point on all of this. I don't…"

He fell back into silence shaking his head.

Then he sat up straighter. She actually saw his chest puff out, decision made.

"I think I'm going to go."

"Then I'll go with you." She announced nodding. "I'll drive you. I'll go in with you; I'll sit in the car. Whatever. You should have someone with you."

"Okay," he let out in relief. With someone there with him it might be less traumatic. Probably not, but Catherine seemed to project an air of calm about her that he found steady and comforting.

They let the idea sit a while.

Then a sound broke their thoughtful silence.

The sound of Nick's stomach rumbling.

Catherine turned towards him again, twisted her lips wryly, "So, Cowboy Nick?"

She lifted her chin, "howza about I rustle us up some breakfast?"

He put a palm to his stomach, in a futile attempt to silence another grumbling roll, before nodding in thankful agreement.

"We'd better get some ice on that eye of yours before you get a real shiner, too."

"Coffee table," he admitted, lifting his fingers to touch his face and noticing for the first time that his cheekbone was tender to the touch.

She climbed to her feet, turning to head into the house.

"Hey, Cath…?"

She turned back to look at him.

"I can't believe you think I'm worth a million dollars."

There was an attempt at humour in his voice, but there was a whole lot more depth in the look in his eyes.

It was the first time he had brought up the money.

The money that she had begged from her father. The first time he had dared to mention it since Brass had let it slip during a visit to his hospital bedside. And he had been longing too. There was no way to repay the gesture, but he felt so ungrateful for not even acknowledging it.

He couldn't believe she had done that for him. He knew full well how much that had taken for her to ask Sam Braun for money.

One million dollars. More money than he would ever have in a lifetime.

Catherine still looked back at him.

"Nicky… It was never about the money." She smiled fondly at him. "But would I be able to make you smile if I said, _'because you're worth it!'_"

And she even managed a laugh as she tossed her hair like they did on the adverts.

And there it was. A real heartfelt grin spreading across his face.

Momentarily removing all trace of sadness.

It was the best thank you she had ever received.

And it was a better feeling than she had ever dreamed.

**0o0o0o0o0**

You had to be kidding him.

Three times.

Three times he had tried to wriggle away from a certain surprisingly cuddly brunette.

To no avail.

Every time he gently attempted to remove her arm from around him she moaned reluctantly and her sleeping face wrinkled into a pouty frown and he was mesmerized all over again.

She never made anything easy for him, did she… typical Sara.

He liked that her determination was something unchangeable.

But the bathroom situation was getting pretty insistent now. He really had to move.

He had to do this in one quick motion.

Swift and fast.

Ready… one…two… three…

And he was standing on his feet.

Holding his breath, his frame rigid, his tongue pressing against his teeth.

And then the moment of fear was passing and he couldn't help but smile as he exhaled his first breath again in relief, watching amused as she reached out for him again, and finding his space empty she instead instinctively curled around the pillow he had just vacated.

He bit his lip at the sweetness of her.

Wondering if he shouldn't be jealous of that inanimate object still snuggled close to her.

But he wouldn't allow himself to dwell on it too long, even if he did take half a moment to wonder if she was nuzzling into the soft cotton like that to breathe in the smell of him, or to wonder how many times she had awoken like that in the past, just as he had, awakening from dreams of holding her tight to find her arms bereft.

Damn he couldn't believe that he was really getting out of that bed! What was he thinking!

But the quicker he could get his little plan into motion the faster he could get right back in there!

And that thought was really good!

He gave one last longing look at her. Drinking in the way her top hugged her as she hugged the cotton covered feather down, and shorts! He literally had to drag his eyes from those. She must have changed into something more comfortable after he had…

Yeah, fallen asleep. It still smacked him in the face.

Literally, right here before him, stretched out and tangled, as if half ready to take on the world and all its adventures, and the other half lazy and serene, was the perfect example of why he was a complete idiot.

What man of any age fell asleep when he had the chance to be with a woman like Sara?

He would just have to make things better.

Starting with grovelling and building back from there.

Bathroom!

Bathroom first.

With one last glance he left her.

He closed the door to her bedroom carefully.

Then scurried across her apartment, heading towards the other doorway, his current predicament making his motion mildly amusing even to him!

The morning's sunlight reflecting off the bright white tile was not kind upon the man before him in the mirror.

Oh God!

That certainly put the damper on his body's morning excitement.

This was not the way he wanted to look when she woke up!

To fix that.

Toilet first.

Then a shower.

The quick dip into the hot deluge of warm water was good; groan inducingly good, and it drummed the final alcohol induced cobwebs from his brain.

Only a quick spell under the faucet spray though, as he didn't want her to be woken by the noise of the water.

That wasn't part of his plan at all.

But it was so easy to let his mind wander in here.

His attention grazing over all the feminine bottles and soaps and accoutrements that were noticeably absent from his own bachelor bathroom.

And he had to be very careful not to think about the things that she most likely did in this shower. Not to think about where the towels had touched, or the way the water would look gleaming as it ran rivers down her skin in the very same spot he currently stood in.

But he could smile about maybe one day witnessing that.

It was finally a real possibility after all.

And he was occasionally foolish enough as to be hopeful.

For, whatever hadn't happened last night, he had still spent the night in Sara Sidle's bed with Sara Sidle!

He shook his head and felt the water fly from his hair and felt nervous enough to believe himself young again.

The mildly distorted man in the fogged mirror was grinning back at him, anticipation in his eyes, when he climbed out.

The crazy tufts of hair, now springing back into more maintained curls as he rubbed it drier with the towel.

He didn't want to root about in her cupboards, okay, truthfully the idea made his fingers twitch with the temptation, but he restrained himself, and was relieved to see an unperfumed deodorant spray on the shelf under her mirror.

And beside it a tube of toothpaste.

Perfect!

He wasn't sure if they were at the sharing a toothbrush stage yet and he didn't want to presume.

With a smear of minty paste on his finger he rubbed his teeth until they squeaked.

Pulling silly faces at himself as he accomplished the task before sucking his finger clean.

Much better.

But his clothes weren't, if anything the steam from the shower hadn't loosened some of the creases as he had hoped, but had just made the cloth damp as well as rumpled.

The best he could do was his boxers and his undershirt.

He sucked his lips as he considered.

Then thought back to the wonderfully underdressed woman in the other room.

At least this would put them on level ground.

Well, it would even it out some, he certainly didn't even dare to think he looked as good in his underwear as she did.

This was Sara.

He could do this.

And with that determination he dressed quickly, bundling his remaining clothes into a roll under his arm.

Pausing only one more moment to give himself a final once over in the mirror.

Then to her kitchen.

She had tidied up he noticed. That was the Sara he knew.

And yet he could also see this new Sara he was just getting acquainted with here, lounging against the counter as she had last night, smile of surprise on her face as he had finally plucked up the courage to ask her to dance.

And just the feel of her stepping into his arms, the feel of her skin beneath his lips, the way she had shivered as he had teased the sensitive underside of her jaw.

And the kisses they had shared…

Last night had been…

He was smiling again.

Perfect.

He was thinking that a lot today.

Well… almost perfect!

Breakfast!

If he didn't get busy, and quickly she would be awake and dressed and wondering where he had fled to.

There were more pictures on her refrigerator door to catch his attention, along with a few postcards and scattered reminder notes in her spidery scrawl, more small snippets into her life.

And upon cracking her fridge open he was pleasantly impressed at the temptations on offer inside.

She must have been to the market yesterday after shift.

A veritable feast of possible breakfast foods lay before him.

His expression could only be called gleeful now as he picked out fruits, yoghurt, and moving onto her cupboards, found fruit bread for toasting and plenty of coffee.

And as the coffee started to percolate he spotted his piece de resistance.

By the door, where she had left her keys last night, lay the present that Cath had bestowed upon her.

The bright pink flowered lei and the single stem for her hair.

Just the thing!

Using her chopping board as a makeshift breakfast tray he laid out the plate of warm toast, a pot of jelly, a yoghurt, spoon, a bowl of neatly chopped fruit, slipped the fake flower into an empty glass as decoration and finished off with two steaming cups of fragrant black coffee and was ready.

But there was just one final touch needed.

With a swoop of his wrist he snagged the lei from her countertop and with one final thought to his manhood, settled the bright pink wreath around his own neck.

After all as she was going to laugh at him anyway, what was one more embarrassment on his part, especially if it made her smile.

Okay, Gilbert.

Here goes everything…


End file.
